


Speaches

by nellipot



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Footballplayer!Armie, M/M, Pining, Smooth Jazz, Theaterkid!Timmy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellipot/pseuds/nellipot
Summary: Armie Hammer is on top of the world. His senior year, he takes a s(peach) class, because he thinks it'll be easy.





	1. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this idea has been hurting my stomach for days. i hope this is a therapeutic experience for all of us
> 
> disclaimer: this isn't real, just a nice thought

It was the first Tuesday of senior year and Armie had already been late to every class. 

“Duuuude. You’re pretending it matters?” Ashton laughed, shaking Armie’s shoulder after his most-recently whispered _fuck_ and hasty attempt to scoot away from the bag sitting below his dangling feet. 

“It does matter, fucker.” Armie rolled his eyes. 

He jumped down from the ledge of the wall with little to no effort, his legs being half the size of the thing in the first place, and daintily passed the roach into Ashton’s waiting fingers. Ashton pinched it to his mouth, sucking the remnants with little success.

“Fucking hog,” he booed, but Armie was already walking away, the insult barely reaching him. He turned back to smile, flipped him off easily, and scrolled through his phone to find the room number of this class that started six minutes ago. _Introduction to Public Speaking, Rm 328_. Fuck, stairs. 

Armie knew that some of the stuff he did really didn’t matter. He knew he could ditch right now and the teachers would be crawling up his ass to relay the assignments he missed, get him tutors he didn’t need. The only real thing on anyone’s mind when it came to him was _3-Year Undefeated State Champions_ ; his title, his destiny. He was a household name, somewhat to his chagrin. _If we’re gonna win, we gotta get Hammered!_ as it was so fondly chanted down the halls. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate it, obviously, what more could a teenage kid want than attention, popularity, the discretion of his teachers. His life was sick; he just knew it could be taken away in one fell throw. 

Of course, he would still have his friends. He and Nick had been tight since 7th grade, when they built a dirty magazine empire and both got sent home in the end for having “too many travel lotions” stuffed into their lockers (which was _bullshit_ ). That had been way before the whole football thing became a big deal. He hadn’t met Ashton until high school, but they got along quickly, perpetually in mid-roast whenever they talked. Ashton was the worst influence on him, but he was loyal and supportive, bringing the same haggard “ITS HAMMER TIME” poster to every game to heckle him from the stands. 

There was a time things weren’t like this though, when he was just a pudgy kid with too-long eyelashes and a musical affection for Grover Washington. He knew who Nirvana was _now_ , but in junior high, when you were just dying to be liked, the Cayman’s radio stations had left something to be desired. He looked like things came easy to him, and they had in so many ways, but they hadn’t in just enough ways too. 

So he rationalized that he had to at least make an effort when it came to school. He knew he screwed it up most of the time, but he wasn’t going to be as much of the assweed he knew he could be without any repercussions. 

He took the stairs two at a time, swinging himself up the rails toward the third floor of the building. When he pushed open the door, he heard amicable chatter throughout the room, and saw that everyone was gathered in small groups of desks. People looked up at the commotion, some even smiling at him as he scanned the prospects and nodded at acquaintances. He saw Nick in the far corner and felt relief, adjusted his bag and started moving towards him, but stopped, affronted, when Nick made the universal throat-splitting motion of _do not engage_ and pointed to the front of the room.

“Signore, Arm-ie Ham-mer?” The man leaning on the large desk asked expectantly. He was tall but hunched, wore a baggy sweater over his pressed button down and crossed his ankles when he stood. Armie gave him a tight lipped smile.

“Yup, that’s me.” 

“You are late. Do you not value the spoken word?” The dude’s accent was thick but airy, and Armie didn’t understand why he was suddenly so intimidated by someone who looked so meek. 

“Uhh, no? I mean, yes I do. Whichever one is the right – yah.” If he knew there were going to be so many questions, he wouldn’t have smoked the weed. 

The look he got back was unimpressed, and there were a few chuckles echoing around the room. Armie just stared at him lazily, his lips pushed in a pensive pout. Was this guy for real?

“You are in group four. I am Mr. Guadagnino. They will tell you what we are up to today.” Mr. Guadagnino gestured to the desks bunched over to his left, desks with people in them, and he sauntered over with a mild wave. 

“What’s up group,” He smiled droopily. He slumped in his chair and let his backpack fall to the floor, stretching out so he was facing to the side because fuck if he was going to try to bend his knees under that little table. 

There were four of them including him now, three boys and girl. He recognized the girl from his English class the semester before, her name was Laura-Lauren something or other. She had been the type to raise her hand to read the next passage. The other two weren’t in his grade so he couldn’t place them.

“Hey Armie,” Laura-Lauren smiled with raised eyebrows and linked her fingers together on her desk. “Today we’re just supposed to get to know each other. We already went, and Colin was just about to go, so if you wanted to say your name, grade, and a random fact after, we could go on to the other discussion questions.”

Armie nodded, deeming it just. He never minded icebreakers like he knew others did. He turned his attention to the other dudes in the circle, and the kid with the blond buzz cut started to speak. 

“Yah I’m Colin, I’m a junior. My fun fact is that I have a twin.” Colin nodded with a vacant smile towards all of them. The other two smiled attentively, engrossed in the, like, 8 words Colin spoke, so Armie tried to mimic their mannerisms. They all turned their gaze towards him, and his eyes got wide before he remembered he was next. 

“I’m Armie, Hammer, I’m a senior, and uh – my fact is, that I – lived in the Cayman Islands for 11 years.”

He got the same nods as Colin had, except this other kid, the kid he didn’t know yet, lifted his eyebrows and parted his lips, leaned forward on the elbows he was hugging on his desk.

“Hey, that’s really cool man.” He nodded. “What do they have going on over there?”

That was such a weird thing to have asked. The wording of it was awkward at best, but the dude seemed genuinely interested, and that probably threw Armie off the most. Anyone he usually told asked him one of the same three questions: did he live in a hut, did he have to go to school, and how did the girls compare. And really, that last one was such a reach, because he was _eleven_ , like he was supposed to be thinking about girls at that age. Ashton swore he had been thinking about boobs since he was seven, and Armie thought he was lying through his teeth. 

“Thanks, uh, I’m gonna be honest with you, not much,” Armie breathed with a laugh. “I remember one summer they only showed the Titanic in theaters for like, 13 weeks.” The boy’s smile got really wide and he leaned back in his chair to laugh before colliding with his hand again, now squishing the side of his cheek.

“How many times did you see it?” He asked.

“Like, six times!” Armie sat up a little in his seat, laughing at the ridiculousness of this confession. The kid was holding onto his torso as he shook with laughter and pointed at Armie without accusation. Armie watched him sweep a falling wave of hair off his temple, too short to make it when he tried to fit it behind his ear.

“Oh man, that reminds me of this one time –”

“Once you get _Sweet Tea_ started, we’re gonna be hearing it til the end of class.” Armie looked towards Laura-Lauren, who was looking at the kid amusedly and a little exasperated. The kid looked back at her, grin still on his face, then eyed Armie quickly before looking down and biting his lip.

“Yeah, no I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take over or anything, my bad, my bad.” Armie watched him sink back and pull at his hoodie sleeves, hiding his hands in his neck. He frowned and turned to Laura-Lauren.

“I thought this was fuckin’ _speech_ ,” he said pointedly, not really meaning for it to come out as snide as it did. Really, though, they had just been talking, there was no reason to shit on his whole life with one sentence. He looked over at the boy curiously and saw a litany of expressions cross over his face; surprise, gratefulness, delight, unease. It calmed Armie, not having to guess what he was thinking like he did with so many others. 

“I just thought we could get back to the assignment.” Laura-Lauren said with the sweetness of a rotten banana.

“By all means,” Armie said with his hands up, raising his eyebrows at the other boy like they were in on some inside joke. When the _correct_ conversation began again, Armie leaned towards the boy, cupping his hand so he would give him his ear, and whispered.

“Who the fuck hires an Italian dude to teach me how to speak _English_?” 

The boy’s reaction did not disappoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever accidentally google "armie hammer on arrested development" and regret your whole life? 
> 
> Apparently Cayman Islanders (Caymonians? Caymanites?) can really get down to some jazz, which im going to be very self indulgent about, bc Grover Washington is dope. 
> 
> PLS tell me if this sucks or not, it was written in a flurry of emotions and I genuinely can't tell


	2. Tuesday/Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie is cute and I want to hold him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad I'm not the only one who needs this in their life!!! thanks for reading and tell me what u think!!!

Ashton and Nick were at his locker when Armie got out of his last class. He elbowed them out of the way when they were too busy tapping on their phones to realize he was trying to get at his combination. 

“He owns one letterman jacket and thinks he can push people into lockers,” Ashton shook his head, pretending to blow out hot air.

“No, it’s not the letterman,” Armie smiled without looking, pulling books and handouts out of his backpack and stacking them arbitrarily on a shelf. “I’d still feel incredibly superior to you with out it on too.”

“Yah? Even while you were getting chewed the fuck out in front of the whole room in speech today?” Nick chimed in, and Armie laughed.

“ _Fuck_ , our teacher hates me.”

“Holy shit dude! Because you were late?” Ashton was hitting him in the shoulder as he closed his locker, kept doing it as they turned down the hall.

“I don’t even remember it being that bad.” Armie shrugged.

“Yah, because you were high as fuck.” Nick laughed, causing Armie to suck air through his teeth like those words were painful.

“Was it that obvious?”

“You were doing that thing where you think your tongue is gum…” A classic, he might add.

As they walked towards the gym, he briefly glanced to the side at the people walking past him. He registered that it was the kid in his class, walking in arm beside a spritely thin-boned girl with short platinum hair. She was talking his ear off, clutching onto the inside of his elbow and messing up the mop on his head, and he was laughing and nodding at whatever she was saying. It was funny, because he’d never noticed him around before that day. They made eye contact momentarily before Armie went back to what Nick was saying.

“Fuck, well, I won’t be late again,” Ashton was scoffing to the side of him, but he ignored it, “Mr. G will have to save the evil stares for somebody else.”

“ _Please_ make my day and call him Mr. G next class, I _beg_ of you.”

\--

That day at practice they ran what felt like a billion suicides, but a small part of Armie didn’t mind very much. He liked running, and yah the extra pounds of gear on his shoulders hurt like a bitch, but there was a certain comradery gained from having to do a shitty thing together. He liked his team to suffer with each other just as much as they celebrated. 

He’d tried out for football for the hell of it. _It’ll be good for you_ his parents had pressed. _You’ll meet your brothers there._ He already had a brother, but he got the gist. They wanted him to make friends, move on from sulking in his room. His dad was getting impatient, probably, he made it quite apparent that he wasn’t trying to understand why Armie’s transition was so difficult. 

The first year of it was fine, they were all scrawny, awkward fourteen year olds and it gave him a chance to talk to other people about a predetermined topic, but then he grew 6 inches in two months, 9 by the time summer ended and tryouts began. His arms were too long for his body so they made him quarterback to put them to good use, and suddenly they were winning games, his stature allowing him to fling passes and judge gaps above everyone’s heads. He got moved up from Junior Varsity, grew an extra inch, and people were cheering his name by the time junior year rolled around. 

It was an intimidating responsibility, but he learned to like it, he liked that his _parents_ liked it even more. It was a win-win, most of the time. 

When he got home his mom was at the table, her eyes chastising him for shaking his shower-damp hair all over the place as he ventured through the fridge.

“Anything for dinner?” He asked, rummaging past condiment bottles before pulling out the freezer drawer below. 

“Your father’s coming in late tonight so I hadn’t thought about it, do you want me to find something?”

Armie shrugged. “It’s fine.” He settled for a can of soda and pulled a protein bar out of the cupboard.

“Armie, is that really what you should be drinking during your season?” She sighed when she looked up at him from her computer. 

“I’m not gonna lose because of this can of Coke, Mom.” He frowned as he tipped it back into his mouth.

“It’s like you don’t even care about your future,” She droned. “It’s always about what _you_ feel like doing as soon as _you_ feel like doing it.” 

“What are you talking about?” He said incredulously, hunching towards her with a wave of the can. “All I do is think about that shit, I can’t come home from a 3-hour practice and relax a little bit?” She stared back at him like she was tired.

“Whatever Armie," She laughed bitterly. "If you’re just going to swear at me, I guess we can’t have this discussion like adults.” 

Armie gawked at her with his eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly ajar, but she was already checked out, back to typing whatever she was looking at on her screen. He turned away stunned, walking through the kitchen’s archway with an unsatisfying taste in his mouth. There were a billion things he wanted to say and they played over and over in his head as he walked up the stairs and laid down in his bed. He _hated_ that he froze up, too shocked by the fact his mother actually believed he was putting no effort into his life. What more of himself was there left to give?

\--

The next morning was fleeting and tense, his mother calling out an “I love you” and daring Armie not to respond with an expectant glare. His father didn’t even look up from the email he was typing on his phone. By the time he parked there was no time to look for Ashton or Nick, so he rushed towards the biology labs with even less hope that it was going to be a good day.

Speech was the class before lunch, and his growling stomach was doing nothing for his mood. The desks were all neatly aligned so he picked the one next to Nick, but made no effort to talk. Nick pushed his shoulder, making him look up from scrolling on his phone, and gave him a questioning look. He just shrugged.

“I know that speech can be hard for some people,” Mr. Guadagnino began. “It can be very awkward and daunting, but I don’t want it to be like that. I want you to be comfortable.”

He sat at the edge of his desk with his arms crossed, a shrug at end of each rolling sentence.

“I think it is vital to understand why speech matters. That is why for your group discussion today, I want you to touch on why you think speech is important, and what speech means to you. This way everyone will be on the same page with each other. Same groups; as they will be all year.”

The class began to shuffle, picking up their bags and pushing their desks into circles. Armie dragged himself up from his seat and followed. It was a few minutes before his group got together and settled all their belongings.

“Okay!” Laura-Lauren clapped. “Did anyone want to start?”

He heard them talking but wasn’t listening, idly looking down at his hands. He felt the presence of Mr. Guadagnino to his right, listening in on their conversation.

“Armie? Did you want to say anything?” Laura-Lauren asked softly, no doubt changing her intonation for their teacher’s ears. He shrugged.

“Not really,” He told them.

“Why is that, Mr. Hammer?” 

“I just don’t think speech is that important.” He hadn’t really known he was going to say that, but once it was out it felt right. “I mean _nothing_ can be that clear cut, so why make a speech with the sole purpose of getting one thing across to an audience?” He paused to gather his words, thumping the desk with the side of his open hand.

“Just because you say shit? Doesn’t mean they’re listening.” 

Mr. Guadagnino had stared at him intently while he talked, and when Armie looked up, he was giving him a blank look.

“That was wonderful Mr. Hammer. Thank you for sharing. Please, discuss.” He waved his hands for them to go forth and moved on to the next group. Armie looked around the three of them dumbly. 

“Truth bomb dude.” Colin whistled. They all laughed and it got a little easier for Armie to look them in the eyes. 

“I’m probably just nervous for the game coming up on Friday.” Armie admitted. “You know, they make captains shout Shakespearean monologues to the team during halftime and I _just_ don’t think my guys are taking me seriously enough.” He feigned a defeated shrug and they all laughed at the absurdity of his joke. 

“Timmy, what about you?” Laura-Lauren asked when they had all settled. Timmy?

“Yeah, um I mean –” the boy to his left was looking down at his desk, his eyes flitting as he spoke. Armie hadn’t even realized he never got his name, they’d talked enough the class before that he must have created some false memory that he had.

“I don’t mean to make this incredibly awkward, but like, speech is my life,” He smiled faintly and chuckled to himself as he spoke. “I mean I try to communicate so much when I’m on stage, and I like watching other people speak candidly as well; there’s a great amount you can hide or find out when you’re talking to a person. And I think Armie puts it well when he says that speeches aren’t straight forward, they aren’t this steadfast thing with one answer and one interpretation, but, and to steal Mr. Guadagnino’s word, I think that’s wonderful,” He laughed with a shrug. 

Armie didn’t think any of them knew what to say.

“Ha-ha, awkward silence in the circle,” Timmy gestured his hand out towards all of them and it shook Armie out of his blank look.

“I mean, yeah –” Armie cleared his throat, “Uh yeah, you kind of, uh, nailed that.”

Timmy’s arguments brought relief to Armie’s chest, which had been tight and heavy since the moment he woke up. The idea of words’ fluidity was the most comforting thing he’d heard all day. 

He called out to Timmy as they left class, but when the boy turned around curiously, Armie realized he didn’t actually have anything to say. 

“Sorry man, did I forget my pencil or something?” Timmy started.

“What? No,” Armie looked at him confusedly and laughed. “And I definitely wouldn’t have told you if you had, that shit is finders-keepers.”

Timmy’s eyes got all crinkled up and he smiled. “I didn’t know anyone said finders keepers anymore,” he feigned thoughtfulness with a pout of his lip.

“Yeah, I like to keep people on their toes, you know? Start my own trends.” Armie quipped back easily, and Timmy laughed and nodded, but then his eyes were flitting towards the ground and he was biting his lip, hugging his textbook tighter in his arms.

“You good?” Armie asked.

“Yeah, hey listen, I have to get to theater but I’ll talk to you later? I’m sorry, it starts in like 3 minutes.” Timmy winced.

“Oh, yeah, duh, go ahead,” Armie shooed, keeping his tone cool to reassure him. “Wait, isn’t it lunch?”

“Not for sophomores!” Timmy called back with a wave, already a couple feet away.

Armie stood there until Nick walked out of the class. 

“You ready for lunch, bro?” Nick waved a hand in front of his face.

“Yah dude, just waiting for your slow ass.” His stomach grumbled on cue, like it was finally remembering he was hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timmy is cute and I want to hold him
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](http://nellipot.tumblr.com) !!!


	3. Thursday +1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie is mad then not so mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my formal apology. I swear I wanted them in a speech class before I knew how fun the puns would be.

“Peech time!”

Armie turned to the sound of Mr. Guadagnino’s voice, the teacher’s hands clapping after the words, and watched as people started getting up and moving their desks out of the center of the room. 

“What’s this dude talking about?” He leaned in to ask Timmy, his voice getting high at the end like he was trying to recall something from memory. He had no memory, however, of a fucking peach. 

“Peech, Like pop-speech. Pop quiz? You weren’t here at first when he mentioned it.” Timmy shrugged, getting up to follow the others. They arranged their desks in a circle, like a peech was an actual thing that people said, like they needed no further explanation at all.

“As you know, these peeches depend on a quick mind and a stable voice, but to ease your worries, I will only ever ask you to talk about yourself. They will always be shared in this setting to get you used to an audience without having to stand at the front of the class.”

Armie saw that some of the people were sitting at attention, fingers linked above the desk and knees bouncing below, but to his left Timmy’s long legs were stretched out, intruding on the circle like it was made for him. His ankles were crossed and one of the shoelaces on his yellow old skools was untied but he didn’t seem bothered by it, busy raising his eyebrows as the girl who always wore a bow in her hair did her peech. Who wore yellow vans with a purple hoodie?

Nick kicked the side of his foot next to him and he turned his head to see every person in class staring at him. Mr. G spoke for what was probably the second time. 

“Mr. Hammer, you can go next.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Do you want me to repeat the question?”

“Y – es, thank you.”

“We are giving peeches about something that makes us scared.”

“Right – “ Armie started. He looked up at the ceiling. “Something I’m afraid of, is probably…Okay, okay, I’ve got it now. Let me start over.” He sat up, leaning forward on his elbows. “When I was a kid I used to be really afraid of buildings?” He let that ruminate, nodding and pursing his lips as the class chuckled. “And swings. Practically anything higher than me and I would freak out. I wasn’t afraid of being _on_ a swing or anything like that…just like –” He put his hand in front of his face. “Looking at em.” 

It was absurd but it was true, he remembered having to hide behind his mom’s arm, clutching onto her hand every time they walked through town. Banks, apartment complexes, they looked like they were about to crumble on him at any second. Swings were worse. He’d get this swooping feeling in his stomach as he watched them go back and forth, hear the _sound_ of them creaking against the metal. 

“And what about now?”

“Huh?” He looked over in Mr. G’s direction.

“What are you afraid of now?”

Armie looked off to the side for a moment. “I don’t know.” He frowned, before a faint smile played on his lips. “I know I’m too tall to be afraid of buildings anymore.”

The class laughed. He was a fucking monster. Six foot five by the time he was sixteen? What a joke. He looked to the side and Timmy was looking down, hiding his smile behind the hand that was holding up his head, Armie could tell by the crinkling of his eyes. He liked making people laugh.

He stayed behind as books and papers rustled back into everyone’s bags, asked Nick to wait for him outside. He walked over to Mr. Guadagnino’s desk with an awkward smile.

“Hey Mr G – uadagnino, I was wondering if you could sign my absence waiver?” Armie watched him continue to straighten the stack of assignments in his hand, tapping them three times on the desk before replying. 

“What is this for?” He peered up at Armie with a questioning look.

“I have to leave school early tomorrow for the game.” Armie pulled one strap off his shoulder and flipped through his bag to find the sheet half crumpled on the bottom. “So I need your, like, approval.” Mr. Guadagnino took the paper he offered, reading it thoroughly, and Armie stood there, bouncing one foot as he waited. He finally set the waiver down to look for a pen. 

“You spoke today.” He said offhandedly, producing the slowest signature Armie had ever witnessed. It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t know if he had to respond. He hummed and nodded even though Mr. Guadagnino wasn’t looking up. The man ran his palm down the page to flatten it one more time before handing it over. “You didn’t make a speech, though.”

“What do you mean?” They were in limbo, both holding onto the paper in front of them. Armie straightened his bag on his shoulder as the teacher stared at him. 

“You said things without saying anything.” He was shaking his head, but his face was light, and his voice wasn’t stinging. It still made Armie frown.

“I did the assignment. I told you what I was scared of.” Mr. Guadagnino finally let go in order to wave a comforting hand. “These are only for your benefit Mr. Hammer, there is no grade, I am just telling you what I heard.”

Armie nodded, lips pursed.

“The exercise was meant to get you more comfortable with talking to the class.”

“It did. Everyone laughed when I said my thing.” This whole conversation was getting him more and more frustrated. Mr. G was telling him things he _knew already_ , like he was fucking dumb. The teacher nodded, looked around the empty classroom then back to him.

“You can make others comfortable without being comfortable yourself.” 

Why did this dude think he knew him?

“I guess I’ll try harder then,” Armie stuffed the permission slip into his bag and zipped it up without taking it off his shoulder. He didn’t need to hear about how much he wasn’t meeting overly complex expectations. Mr. G asked him what he was scared of and he answered. It was simple. If he had wanted him to say more, he should have made the assignment clearer. Was he supposed to read minds?

Nick was leaning against the lockers when he got out, frowning in confusion when Armie burst out the door. “That took long,” He said, pocketing his phone and matching his strides down the hall. Armie huffed. 

“Yeah, it’s fucking yell at Armie week.” 

Nick made a disgusted face. “Let’s hate him.” Armie laughed. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. 

“We fucking hate him.” 

\--

He showered in the locker rooms after practice that day just to stay out of the house. There wasn’t the underlying tension that there had been all last week because he just didn’t go home. He’d be at Ashton’s or Nick’s until midnight or later, neither of his friends really minding. Both of them had parents who adored him, so it was easy. He’d help Ashton’s mom pull dinner out of the oven or discuss how the season was going to play out with Nick’s dad. 

Nick had tried to talk to him about it, in the very detached tone he often acquired whenever Armie started showing up to his house and hugging his mother hello before even looking him in the eye. There wasn’t anything to talk about though, he was just tired, and leaving his house made him not tired. Armie told him so, and Nick shrugged, told him to quit being an asshole and finish his half of their Spanish translations, asked him who he was going to Homecoming with for the hundredth time. He knew Armie well enough to understand what things he _could_ push.

It was dusk by the time he had his gym bag slung off one shoulder, had his keys twirling on his finger. The parking lot was always so eerie after practice, his car left by itself, only a few light posts beginning to flicker on. He didn’t notice Timmy sitting on the bench below the school’s steps until he had backed out of his stall, the purple hoodie catching his headlight’s attention. 

“Did you need a ride?” He asked when he pulled up and rolled down his window. Timmy was squinting before Armie saw recognition cross his face. 

“Oh, hey Armie.” He walked up to the window, fingers tugging on the straps of his bag. “My sister should be here soon.” There was a half smile on his lips, a slight raise of his hand in farewell and a shuffling of his feet, and Armie felt like maybe his sister was supposed to be there a while ago. Armie leaned closer to the window, his ribs pressed into the cup holders.

“I really don’t mind, where do you live?” Timmy told him. “I pass by there on my way home anyway.” He definitely did not pass by there, but it was getting dark, and he wasn’t in much of a hurry. He cocked his head, gave Timmy the universal gesture of ‘get in here already’ when he started biting his lip and visibly rationalizing. Timmy finally pulled at the door handle and Armie quickly reached to unlock it so he could climb in. 

“Listen, you really don’t have to.” Timmy was looking around the dashboard, dragging his hands nervously up and down the leather seats. They seemed to be perpetually hidden in the sleeves of his clothes. 

Armie chuckled. “You’re already in here dude.” He looked behind him and splayed his hand across the back of the passenger seat as he reversed, spinning the wheel in a fluid motion. Timmy looked behind him too, like he was trying to contribute another pair of eyes on the road, even though he was barely able to peer over his bicep. Armie had never noticed how fidgety he could get. 

“Why are you here so late?” He asked, when he finally pulled out of the lot and onto the street. 

“Just rehearsals. Our fall show is in 3 weeks, so they get to be pretty long. But I won’t talk your ear off about staging and theater lights.” Timmy said, waving him off and looking out the window.

“You can talk my ear off,” Armie nodded, still watching the road with one hand slumped at the top of the wheel. Timmy didn’t usually say anything that wasn’t interesting. Armie was constantly engrossed during the mutual class they had together. Timmy laughed, looking at his fingers on his lap. 

“No, I…Can I turn on the radio?” He reached for the power button and the speakers started blasting the song Armie’s bluetooth had stopped on that morning, to his fucking horror. 

Each hit of the synth progressed into a cymbal down beat, and the whirring hum of a saxophone filled the car. Armie straightened up in his seat, even though he wanted to sink down, down, down. He pressed his lips into a tight line, clenching the wheel and trying his best to imitate someone who was not about to fling himself out of a window. 

“You like this kind of stuff?” Armie looked over to see Timmy tapping a rhythm on his fingers that matched his nodding head, his lower lip sucked behind his teeth. He started humming along with the instruments when Armie didn’t reply, too busy watching Timmy’s movements become more senseless as the song continued.

“You can change it, my phones right there, I don’t have a password – here, you can put something else on.”

Armie held his phone out to him, but when Timmy took it he just tucked it into his side and frowned. “I want to listen to what you listen to though.” 

“Well…t’s not like anyone _knows_ I listen to this, so it can’t really be _considered_ something I listen to.” 

“Because no one knows? What does that even mean?” It didn’t look like Timmy expected an answer, he was playing air drums above the glove compartment. 

“It’s just something from the islands…I grew up on jazz.” He never talked about this before with anyone, not even his parents knew he still listened to this kind of music. Really, that wasn’t saying much though. But he’d never told Nick or Ashton, in so many words, or in any words, once he actually thought about it. Timmy twisted the volume down when the song changed to something slower.

“That’s fucking cool man, I don’t know why you wouldn’t tell anyone that.” _Because that’s not what they want to hear._

“Did you tell your sister I’m taking you home?” Armie asked, so he didn’t have to respond. 

“Yeah, she probably forgot to get me,” Timmy laughed, scratching the side of his neck. “Artists are so flighty. You can take a left right here and it’s the one with the mail box.” 

“They all have fucking mailboxes, dude.” Armie watched each house he passed through the passenger window carefully.

Timmy stopped him in front of a house with a perfectly mediocre mailbox ( _it’s_ my _mailbox though_ ) and Armie left the car on but put it in park. 

“I finish practice at the same time everyday, I can take you home when your sisters being an artist.” He shrugged. He’d said it without much thought, there wasn’t much stopping him from doing anything to stay out at night, at least this would be a good cause. 

“Oh – really? I could pay for gas…” Armie laughed. 

“Timmy, I have money for gas,” He looked up at the sound of his name. “It’s really no trouble.” 

Armie was pushing this kind of hard, which was new, and he didn’t know why. He did know that in the little time they just spent together, he didn’t have to read anyone’s mind. 

“That’s – thanks, okay. I could, yeah that would be good. If you’re sure.” Armie rolled his eyes. 

“Just put your name in my phone already” He nodded towards it, still tucked half under Timmy’s leg.

“Why did Laura-Lauren say your name was Sweet Tea our first day?” The phone almost flipped out of Timmy’s hands as he spoke.

“My uh – oh man, um, she knows me a little from theater? Listen, my friend Saoirse is someone who can’t really be stopped and she found out the closest thing to Timothée in Chinese is um, Tiánchá, which means sweet tea, and it just kind of stuck, but you don’t have to like, call me that ever. I like wh – Timmy’s fine.”

Armie raised his eyebrows. That was... probably the nicest thing he'd ever heard. “I mean, you already know all my secrets,” he said, gesturing to the radio. It stopped Timmy from fidgeting with the bottom of his jacket to smile up at him curiously.

“Why did you just say Laura-Lauren?” It took a second for Armie to respond.

“What? Oh, I forgot which one her name is, so I just say both in my head.” That made Timmy laugh really hard, like, head leaning on hand, then tipping back on the seat kind of hard.

“Armie,” He said, with his hands on his cheeks, finally dying down but still smiling. Armie looked at him like he grew another head. “Her name’s Elizabeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank u for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr!!!](https://nellipot.tumblr.com)


	4. Monday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter made me happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dead week/finals week are ahead of me my friends! if you see me posting on here again please yell at me!

The Monday after a game was always…a lot. It had been an especially nail-biting one the Friday before, an away game at the school in the county over. The bleachers on their side were filled nonetheless, no one missed a game even if they had to drive 20 miles to see it. This was comforting to him, he liked when the cheers could drown out his thoughts and he could stay focused on one thing in front of him.

They were down by 14 points at the end of the third quarter, which was fucking unheard of for them, but their wide receiver hadn’t been on his game and Armie's left guard kept letting people through, just short of opening a door for the defensive ends to tackle Armie to the ground and _thanking_ them when the whistle blew. It was probably a biased accusation, but _fuck_ , he was the one getting his head slammed onto the turf. 

He was the captain though, so he had to stay fucking calm, remain confident in their chances, or his team would be crushed by self doubt alone. This was his strong suit – rallying them all up with loud yells and shoves – the bells and whistles. His hair was crooked and wet, there were grass stains up his chest, and his eye-black was smeared and sweating down his cheeks. It helped, probably, to look as manic as he felt when he screamed at them.

“Carter. What the fuck are you doing man? Block me! You need to have my back out there!” The ginger nodded solemnly, biting his lip hard and holding Armie’s gaze, but his stare was blank and panicked. “Don’t shut me out. I can see it. You and I both know you can do this.” Armie held his hand up and out for the guy to slap, their fingers coming together in a hearty echo. He looked around to the rest of the room, at some guys sitting with their elbows on their knees at the benches between the lockers.

“Everyone get the fuck up. This game isn’t over.” They were reluctant, but Armie’s words were law. 

“This is a weird night. I’ll say I’m off my game too because it’s true. But the crowd came here to watch us beat these guys _faces_ in, and that’s what we’re gonna give them.” They were strings of words so easily conjured, when the adrenaline was hitting it’s peak and the sweat on his neck started to cling. They all shook with anticipation. These huge fucking guys all packed tight in a room, the tops of the lockers reaching their chests, trying to get something out of each other. Trying to win a game. 

“Let’s fucking kill em.”

And that’s just what they did.

Walking through the halls now brought the same energy the locker room had, except not from him. People he didn’t know were shaking his hand, telling him they were there that night, hitting his shoulders in awe. He smiled and nodded, laughed when their words called for it, mimicked their proud pointing fingers. This was easy too. He hated reading minds but loved knowing exactly what people wanted. What they wanted was his hand running through his hair, the glint of his large smile - a second where his attention was just on them. 

Nick was used to it by then, scrolling through his phone as they walked and stopping without looking up when Armie did. He’d shake a few hands too and smile, or recount the winning play with them (fucking _insane_ bro, how’d you see that space between those safeties? It was non _existent_ ). He did put his phone fully into his pocket when Armie stopped at a particular locker. 

In the rush of all the people calling out his name, it wasn’t hard for Armie to spot the one that wasn’t, the curls that were leaning on painted metal, the back that was towards him. When he got close enough, he kicked the inside of Timmy’s leg so his knees would buckle, smiling smugly when Timmy turned around from his conversation to see him standing over him. 

“Hey Timmy,” Armie grinned, adjusting his bag on his shoulders. The guy looked like he’d seen a ghost, but his parted lips soon started curling into a small smile. He’d been talking to the blonde girl Armie’d already seen him with at some point. Nick would tell him later that she was looking up at him rather pointedly.

“Hey! Hey Armie.” Timmy’s hand went to pull back his hair, his other hanging loosely on a book.

“I’m seeing you tonight, right?” he asked, and Timmy responded but Armie wasn’t able to hear him _and_ nod at the guy behind him, who was calling out his name at the same time. He hadn’t texted Timmy all weekend to confirm, and it’s not like he really had to, but it seemed like the thing to say when you stopped someone in the hall that you were going to drive home later.

“Cool.” He said, looking back at Timmy worrying his lip. “I’ll be the one in the car,” He winked. Timmy laughed and nodded, now clutching his book tight to his chest. He walked away with a lazy salute, groups of other people swallowing him in the halls until he got to his own locker, Ashton coming towards them from the other end of the building.

“How do you know that kid?” Nick asked, leaning on the locker beside him. 

“What kid?” Ashton came around to where they were standing confusedly. 

“Armie just talked to someone we don’t know like he actually has other friends.” Nick informed him, not looking away from Armie’s face. 

“You _know_ Timmy dude, he’s in our speech class.” Armie said with a laugh. “I took him home last week and he’s cool.” He shrugged. 

“Nah, dude. That’s not okay.” Ashton shook his head. “We’re supposed to be _it_ for you. All this emotional baggage,” He twirled his finger up and down at him. “That shit is _ours._ ” 

“Fuck off, I’m a fucking delight,” Armie shoved him lightly. “Look at him. He’s harmless.” He pointed towards the end of the hall where Timmy and his friend were rounding the corner. Her hand was clutching his arm and pulling at his t-shirt excitedly, half the thing falling off Timmy’s shoulders as it stretched. He looked back at Ashton, who was frowning, and then not frowning.

“That’s Pippin.” He said. Matter-of-fact.

“Yes! Fuck, that’s where I’ve seen him!” Nick said behind him. 

“What did you just call him?” Armie needed an explanation so he knew if he had to be mad or not. 

“Dude, that’s the kid who got a leading role his freshman year, I wrote about him for the paper.” Nick said, shaking Armie’s arm. 

“And how do _you_ know that?” He looked over at Ashton who shrugged. He didn’t know why that fact offended him more. 

“I like plays dude.” And. Okay. 

“He was really good.” Nick nodded. Armie wanted to agree, but he couldn’t, and he didn’t know how he felt about that. He did know that he liked having this information. 

“That’s, I mean. I have good taste? In talented friends?” He looked at them both, hands up, an offering. They both dogged him for it, pushing him from either side and messing up his hair. 

“That was fucking cheesy,” Ashton laughed. 

“You owe us for having to listen to that,” Nick shook his head.

\--

Armie was late as usual to the last class of the day. They weren’t sitting in their normal groups, which confused him. Everyone was scattered everywhere, some not even in desks, just sitting near the shelves or up near the board. This class always gave him fucking whiplash. He saw Timmy staring at the notebook in his hand almost in the center of the room, flinging through it’s pages, and went over to ask what was going on. 

“Listen, there’s this group project and I hope you don’t mind being my partner, we could, like, definitely find some way to switch.” He was smoothing the hair on the back of his head, his eyebrows scrunched and concerned. Armie looked at him and frowned, because that was dumb.

“I would have picked you anyways.” He said, pulling a desk up to sit in front of him. He sat down and saw Timmy giving him a disbelieving smile. 

“You have friends in this class,” He dismissed, looking over to the corner of the room for a millisecond too long. Armie copied him, seeing Nick and some girl talking it up and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“Nah. Nick’s a shitty partner.” He said that last part with his hands cupped around his mouth, yelling across the room. Nick looked up and automatically flipped him off, Armie doing the same with his eyebrows up. He turned back to Timmy. “What’s this about?”

“Right.” Timmy looked down at the desk, opening and closing his mouth before explaining. “We have to interview one another and write a speech about what we’ve learned.” He finally got out. “Mr. Guadagnino says it can help to be distanced from your topic when talking about emotions.” Armie rolled his eyes.

“He says a lot of things doesn’t he,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“What?” Timmy laughed.

“Mr. Guadagnino. Mr. Gua-da lot of opinions.” 

“Our _teacher_? _Yah_ , I would think so,” Timmy looked at him weirdly.

“I asked him to sign my permission slip last Thursday and he totally _attacked_ me.” He was leaning his elbows on the desk now. Timmy frowned.

“Why?”

“I don’t know! He said I wasn’t comfortable in front of an audience? Which is…which fucking sucks, because I feel like that’s all I’m doing.”

“What’s ‘all you’re doing’?” 

Armie looked around the room mindlessly. “I don’t know.” He sighed, dragging out the ‘I’. He also didn’t know what part of Timmy spurred him to babble on like this. Timmy’s face was still scrunched as he watched him.

“Maybe you can help me though, since you’re a freshman-lead-theater-prodigy, right?” Armie smiled. He was getting more used to how Timmy shied away when responding to him.

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Timmy laughed, hand scrubbing his cheek. 

“Don’t pretend – I know who you are.” Armie teased, tapping him in the shin with his foot.

“And who am I?” Timmy rolled his eyes playfully, head propped up on his elbow. 

“You’re _Timothée Chalamet_ ,” It wasn’t hard to pull up an article from the library database. It _was_ a little hard to follow the phonetic parentheticals placed after his name, at first. “You took ballet lessons when you were three. Your favorite part of theater is the _friendships you have made_ , but you can say that, right? Because you get all the leading roles.” He was rattling off random facts he’d seen, getting egged on by how much it looked like Timmy enjoyed what he knew. 

“Okay creep,” Timmy laughed, his neck getting pink. He leaned over to push at Armie’s shoulder. 

“I’m just saying, I’m lucky you’re my partner.” Armie said as their laughter died down. “Plus, if you slack off, I know where you live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot tell you.......how turned on i am.......by football armie hammer.....................
> 
> i love you thanks for reading this!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://nellipot.tumblr.com)


	5. Monday Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> data collection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PASSED ORGANIC CHEM AND CELEBRATED WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER WOO do you know how many ideas you have when you don't allow yourself to write i have no impulse control

“He wants to do you.”

Things were probably said before that, but obviously, that was what stuck out to Timmy as he watched a tall blonde head disappear down the hall. 

“What the hell Sersh!” He pushed her on the shoulder but there was no way to knock any thought out of her mind once she put it there. 

“No, no I get it. I didn’t get it before, when you told me he took you home and he acted _so sweet_ and wanted you to talk about _stage lighting_ , but it’s because you weren’t telling me the whole story.” Saoirse stroked the side of his neck, as if trying to console herself through him. He shook her off. 

“We’re _friends_ , he took me home because it’s close to his house,” 

“And how does that explain the look in his eyes when he _winks_ and tells you to where he’s gonna be with his car? Are you gonna screw in his car?” She pulled him towards her and practically screeched, and he swayed somewhat willingly as they walked down the hall. It was nice to hear someone validate at least some of his own thoughts, because actually, what the fuck.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with all, and he couldn’t emphasize _all_ enough, this attention from inarguably the most popular boy in school? 

“Is it so hard for you to believe that maybe he just likes being around me?” He mumbled dejectedly. _He_ didn’t even believe what he was implying, but he felt oddly defensive for someone he barely knew, because that someone drove him home, and nodded intently when he spoke, and smiled at him so kindly when Timmy was brave enough to look up. 

“Pony, you know that’s not what I meant.” Saoirse sighed, a hand on his cheek. She had to know this was a sensitive subject - no matter how much Timmy did want to talk about it and hear what she had to say. He wished he could tell every person he passed, _Yes, it’s outside of class too, and he asked_ me, _yes and he_ parked _and talked to me for another twenty minutes after that, what do you think that means?_

He just didn’t understand why Armie gravitated toward him so much. It felt like an onslaught every time Armie made yet another comment or joke that veiled his genuine thoughtfulness – and maybe he didn’t even know he was doing it. To admit he knew what he wanted it to mean would be to admit ultimate pathetic-ness, would be to admit he was crushing on the first boy to give him the time of day. 

But Armie gave him...Armie was fucking weird. 

“I’m allowed to think the worst of people who aren’t you, because I love you, and I don’t love anybody else.” Saoirse made everything sound so simple. 

“And what should I think of him?” He asked, scratching the back of his head, the million-dollar question. It made her squint in thought as she walked backwards down the hall, leaving Timmy for a class they didn’t share. 

“Just don’t.” She finally replied. “We need more data!”

\--

Mr. Guadagnino hushed the class to begin the lesson and Armie still wasn’t there yet. 

“I am assigning your first speech today, and it will be presented in two weeks.” He said loudly over latent mumbles. They soon grew louder with unease. 

It would have made no sense for Timmy to join in their chatter; he was perfectly fine with the assignment. This class was mostly a stepping stone to higher oration levels in the future - yet another reason why he never thought it would be so...significant. The next thing Mr. Guadagnino said was a different story. 

“Your speech will be done about someone in this class. It will be a good way to get to know someone and will also allow separation between yourself and the emotion. It is often easier to talk about someone else’s feelings rather than your own.”

He already knew he wasn’t going to have a partner. He was a _sophomore_ in a predominantly upperclassmen-filled class, most of them taking it as an easy A rather than something they actually enjoyed doing. This was embarrassing, he couldn’t help but clench his fists on the desk as he looked around, watching everyone beside him make eye contact with each other in agreement. 

“If everyone could go to their partners, I will let you discuss this for the rest of the day.” 

They all started moving except for him, but it was easy for him to shrink down into the background when he wasn’t on stage, and he liked it that way. He wasn’t the most outgoing person when it came to social interaction, he had Saoirse and everyone else in theater, but he usually got nervous when there wasn’t a script in his hand. There was a time and place for wearing your heart on your sleeve.

“Timothée, who will you be working with?” He winced. Of course Mr. Guadagnino noticed.

“Oh, uh, you know,” He craned his neck around the room like he was looking around for somebody. “They’re…around.” The answer did not satisfy his teacher.

“You can be with our late bloomer.” He said, eyes glancing at the door and frowning. 

“Who? Armie?” He asked, not mentioning the fact Mr. Guadagnino definitely used that phrase incorrectly, because he was starting to get frantic. 

He couldn’t be Armie’s _partner_ , the dude would think he was _stalking him_. He could already see Armie looking at him with pity, and regretting ever talking to him in the first place, because he didn’t sign up for Timmy following him around like a minion desperate for friendship. Plus, he’d obviously want to be with his friend Nick!

“No, I can’t, I think he’s Nick’s partner.” He shook his head and pointed across the room. Mr. Guadagnino followed his hand and Nick looked up at the sound of his name.

“Are you Mr. Hammer’s partner, Mr. Delli Santi?” Nick jerked his head, taken aback, and moved it in a distinct no.

“I know that kid too well. This is supposed to be hard, right?” He said, as he moved his desk toward another girl in the class. Mr. Guadagnino looked back at him with his eyebrows raised. 

“Excellent, he will be your partner,” Timmy bit his lip, trying not to cringe in panic, but obviously failing, because Mr. Guadagnino watched him curiously. 

“I like Mr. Hammer. I like you as well. I have no doubt you will work well together,” He said, trying to reassure him before walking away with a nod. Right. 

So he waited for the inevitable, kept himself busy by flipping through his notebook until he felt someone looming over him and looked up.

“Hey dude. Care to tell me what the fuck is going on?” It was Armie, towering with his bag over one shoulder and hand grasping at the strap, laughing at himself helplessly and pushing his hair back with his fingers. Right.

To: Saoirse

< Data >

< d a t a >

< Fucking!!!! DATA >

-

< **what? What!!! SPILL** >

-

< He looked me UP >

-

< **OMG like… wait how??** >

-

< I don’t know!!! He knew about the play last year? >

< he called me a prodigy??? >

< he said my name Saoirse >

< like my actual name came out of his mouth >

-

< **FUCKk** >

< **did you die** >

-

< I think I played it cool >

< but yes >

< WHAT IS GOING ON >

-

< **my thoughts still stand** >

-

< stoppp >

< he’s not like that >

< he just wants my help >

< I’m just freaking out to u because i can >

-

< **you’ll help a TON tonight** >

< **’Timothée, I don’t know where my tongue should be’** >

< **see how I made him say your full name** >

-

< I got that >

< ur making me NERVOUS >

-

< **but like when are you not nervous** >

-

< **Armie likes you nervous** >

-

< I’m hanging up >

-

< **this isn’t a CALL >**

-

< where are you >

-

< **locker** >

-

< okay comin >

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's short!!! i want the car rides in Armie's pov
> 
> i love u thank u for reading!!
> 
> [tumblr](http://nellipot.tumblr.com)


	6. Monday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nailed it, Hammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is late and i have no excuses. I'll leave this here and see myself out

He found Timmy in the same spot he did last Thursday, this time with his knees pulled up to his chest for his chin to rest on. He crept up behind the bench, swinging his gym bag behind his back and quickly covered Timmy’s eyes with both hands. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he called out to the empty parking lot, as Timmy clawed at his fingers and finally pulled him off. He looked up at him, flustered.

“Aren’t you supposed to wait til I guess who you are before you start yelling,” Timmy said with a breathless laugh, fingers still circled around Armie’s wrists. 

“Why, are you expecting someone else?” Armie asked, slapping Timmy’s face lightly with the back of his hand, laughing when Timmy squawked and let go, dodging him too late with scrunched eyebrows. 

“Do you abuse people when you’re happy?” He yelled, picking up his bag with one hand on his cheek and following Armie to his car. 

He _did_ feel rather giddy that evening, now that Timmy said it. Practice had gone well, as it always did after a game they won, all of them hyped up and boastful. Maybe that was it.

“Only people who can’t fight back,” He said with a smile, walking backwards to face him. 

“I know _taekwondo_ ,” Timmy pouted, pulling at the handle of the car over and over.

“It’s _locked_ , Karate Kid, chill _out_.” The look of Timmy with his hand still on his face and his hair shaking around him as he took all his frustration out on Armie’s car did something to his chest, it was fucking _funny_ , he hadn’t even hit him that hard. 

“Karate’s not even the same thing.” Timmy mumbled, sliding onto the leather seat. Armie exaggerated a huff and turned Timmy’s chin toward him and held it in one hand. Timmy looked at him wide eyed.

“It’s not even _red_ ,” He scoffed, searching Timmy’s face for signs of distress. Timmy watched him look it over, eyes flitting over his face, so he made a show of looking really hard before he smiled. 

“I’m sorry for saying karate when you take taekwondo,” He grinned. He wasn’t that sorry. 

“Right. Right, _yeah_ –” Timmy pushed his shoulder, catching up to their conversation rather late. “You don’t know me or – uh, my taekwondo.” His voice trailed off. The way he said things was always so weird.

“You should tell me, then. So I know.” Armie said as he leaned back into his seat and turned the key, shifting the car into reverse. It _was_ a surprise to hear Timmy had other hobbies, and it jolted Armie back into the realization that they didn’t really know each other, that they had only just met. He only had friends that have been around for years, so there was some catching up to do. 

“I mean – you don’t wanna…didn’t you need my help with something?” He was chewing on his thumbnail and looking up at him, bending his legs to rest his feet on the dash. Armie sighed and scratched the back of his head. 

“Yeah…kinda, just for speech class.” And duh, that’s the only class they had together, he didn’t have to specify that. “But that’s for later, like, he’ll give us time in class for that.” He shooed away the subject because it sounded boring and dreary and not at all what he wanted to talk about. He heard Timmy snort and turned his head toward the sound. “What?” He smiled.

“Nothing it’s just, he gave us time in class _today_ , and that worked out _great_.” 

It was true, Armie had pulled the same avoiding act, sat in the middle of the room with Timmy that day. They had _time_ was the thing, to hash out all the details and logistics of getting this project done, Armie was taking Timmy home indefinitely (or as long as he was allowed) and they had each other’s numbers already in their phones, so…what was the rush? 

(“So, this whole thing is just about…you getting to know me?”

“Yeah, like things you would rather have someone else say out loud.” 

“That’s the part that doesn’t make sense to me.” 

“What part?”

“We should probably do you first.”

“Do me first?”

“Yeah, _you’re_ the prodigy, right? You’ll show me the ropes?”

“I don’t know why you think I _have_ the ropes…”)

In summary, there was nothing to worry about, despite Timmy’s comment that he didn’t let them get any work done today.

“What are you suggesting, Sweet Tea?” He put his hand over his heart in mock offense. It made Timmy fluster over his words for a second, a button he was just beginning to learn how to push. 

“I’m not… _suggesting_ anything, I mean – I really like what you have to say in class.” He rushed out. “And I’m appreciative this project will let me hear more of…what you have to say?” Timmy was rubbing his own arm up and down nervously. Armie put on his blinker. 

He didn’t know if anyone had ever strung a sentence like that together and directed it towards him before. Maybe his teammates, because they’d wanted to win a game. What was the least invasive way of saying, “You don’t understand how much that means to me, and I can’t put it into words because I’ve never needed to”? 

“Oh. Cool.” Nailed it, Hammer.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to – I can just shut up, I’m sorry.” Timmy slunk down in his seat, his elbow on the armrest supporting his head as he looked out the window. 

“I have literally never wanted you to shut up less than I do now.”

It was as much of an apology as he could muster. Why would he want to push the buttons of someone who gave them away so freely? Why was his first instinct to make Timmy nervous instead of give an actual response? He felt like shit. He wanted to tell Timmy every thing he’d ever thought just to make up for it. 

It was silent for a second as he kept driving down the street, until he felt Timmy’s eyes on him from his slouched position.

“Does that mean you’ve wanted me to shut up before?” 

“What? _No_ that’s not what I -” He looked over to see Timmy stifling a laugh. 

“Wow, not Sweet Tea at _all_ ” he pushed at Timmy playfully while keeping his eyes on the road, and Timmy laughed and dodged him. The silence was comfortable until they pulled up to a stop light. 

“This...um. I really like this song,” Armie shook his head as he squinted at his phone, pulling it up and turning on the radio. 

It had more piano than sax this time, the keys tinkling up and down as they drove under orange street lamps, headlights blurring past, a deep voice beginning to sing.

> _You could see where they'd been washed away_
> 
> _By too many through the day, twelve O'clock tales_
> 
> _Then you came along with your siren song_
> 
> _To tempt me to madness_

The sky was a dark blue-purple, not quite done changing, and Timmy moved to sit up, his face tinged break-light red. Armie didn’t say anything for a while, trying to think of himself as only this person, in this car, listening to a song he liked.

They pulled up to Timmy’s house just before the song ended, but Timmy stayed til it did.

“I like it,” He said, his voice small, his lip between his teeth.

Armie had wanted Timmy to like it, but he had also just wanted to tell someone, to give some tiny part of himself to another person that he never has before. Even this arbitrary thing made him feel like his spine was straighter, like he was sitting correctly. 

“You should – will you come to the game on Saturday?”

“What game?”

“The _football_ game, Timmy, on _Saturday_ ” He couldn’t help but smile. Of course one of the only familiar faces he wanted to see in the crowd didn’t even know there was a crowd to begin with. 

“Oh. I don’t really know anything about football,” He shrugged. 

“I can teach you when to clap, you’ll be fine.” 

“You’ll teach me?”

“Yeah, bring your girlfriend too, the blonde.” He didn’t want Timmy to feel uncomfortable there, and he probably would if he didn’t have someone else while Armie was on the field. Plus, he definitely had enough tickets to go around. He watched Timmy confusedly go through all the people Armie’d seen him with before his eyes went wide.

“Saoirse’s not – I’m not _dating_ Saoirse, I’m not dating anyone.” He shook his head and played with the hem of his shirt. 

“Oh, good.” _Good?_ , does this boy bring the awkward out of people? “But she can still come! I can’t sit next to you, just so you know, it’s one of the many rules of football –” He laughed as Timmy pushed him with both hands, one knee coming up on the seat so he could face him better. 

“I know _that_ about football, asshole.” 

“I didn’t want to assume!” He smiled, holding both palms up guiltily. Timmy crossed his arms. 

“I know you’re very important to uh, you know – how the game goes.” 

“ _How the game goes?_ ” Armie nodded mockingly.

“Okay, like _you_ know anything about theater!”

“Like I haven’t tried to know! I ask you all the time.”

“That’s – I thought that wasn’t serious?”

“Yeah Timmy, my big punchline is asking you about things you like and pretending to be interested.” Armie rolled his eyes. 

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t?” 

Armie didn’t take offense to that. It seemed more telling of Timmy’s life than what Timmy thought of his. 

“Because I like you, and I want to be your friend, and drive you home, and be your partner –” Armie pretended to get more and more exhausted as he rattled off literally all the things he thought Timmy should have already known, things that were already happening, but maybe Timmy needed him to point out the obvious. Armie reckoned yes, by the look of the confused smile on his face. Timmy looked down at the armrest between them.

“Well, I mean –” His smile got wider as he tried to talk and he paused before looking up at Armie. “You can come to the play? If you want. Next week Thursday is for students before we do it for the public. I don’t know if you have something at six o’clock –”

“I’ll be there.” 

“Okay. Okay cool.” Timmy nodded, kept nodding as he slowly pulled his bag over his shoulder and opened the car door. 

“I’ll uh, okay, see ya.”

Armie watched him walk to his door, turn around and wave, and disappear into his house. It was too dark for Timmy to see, but he still waved back anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> timmy really does know taekwondo (also how much do you think he wanted to hold Armies hand at a certain point of this car ride)
> 
> song is Lush Life by John Coltrane (a very good song, very chill, big mood)
> 
> more interesting lyrics: 
> 
> _I'll live a lush life in some small dive_  
>  _And there I'll be while I rot with the rest_  
>  _Of those whose lives are lonely too_
> 
> :/ ([tumblr](https://nellipot.tumblr.com))


	7. Monday/Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feed armie 2k18

He got home to a shiny white Range Rover parked in his space and sighed before turning his headlights off and inching his way toward the spot in front of their mailbox. 

“Did you turn on your alarm?” Was the first thing Armie heard as he eased the front door shut. He turned around quickly and pursed his lips.

“Yeah, I did.”

“I didn’t hear it go off.”

“I promise you, I turned on the alarm.”

“I shouldn’t have to ask; it should be obvious.” 

“Okay.”

“It’s not hard to care for your things.”

“Dad, I _know_ ”

His father raised his eyebrows and finally peered up from the cut of meat he had been slicing diligently into thin strips on his plate. 

“Why did practice run so late?” 

Armie sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I had to go over some things with Coach.”

“He’s been showing up at all hours, Michael, it hasn’t just been today.” Michael shook his head and went back to the dinner on his plate.

“Can you come in here instead of shuffling your feet by the door mat?”

Armie walked closer to the table and shoved both hands in his pockets, slouching lazily. His mother was at the other end and looked at him pointedly as she sipped her wine. 

“Is what your mother says true?” 

“Yup.”

“So what are you doing Armie? I know it sure as hell isn’t respectable.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Armie bit back.

“Did you not just lie to me to my face?”

“I didn’t. Lie.”

“Okay, so what did you do _yesterday_ , Armie, and the day before that, and the day before that?” Michael dropped his utensils in his plate with a loud clang. “This is _exhausting_ ; I am so tired of having to drag every word out of you.”

“I was studying at Nick’s. You can ask his parents if you don’t believe me.” 

“Fine.”

There was a long silence before his mom spoke with her hand on her cheek. “We don’t ask much of you, Armie, just that you live up to your potential.”

“Got it. Can I go now?” He asked, rocking up onto his toes restlessly. His father waved him away without looking up, back to his dinner, on to the next thing in his calendar. 

“This teen angst thing is getting old.” He heard him mumble to his mother as he climbed the stairs. “Viktor was never like this.” And there it was.

He was surprised they didn’t say it to his face like they usually did. 

_Your brother has made the same move as you, Armie, there’s no reason to be acting this way._

_Viktor has adjusted, why can’t you?_

_Play a_ sport, _do_ something, _do you ever see Viktor without people and extra-curriculars to care about?_

It was always about whether or not it _looked_ like he was doing something, and he tried to play by their rules, had watched Viktor get all the way through to college unscathed. He didn’t resent his brother, the football thing got him into a safe zone too for a while. Only now was he starting to think about how ridiculous it all was. And tiring, _so_ tiring. 

Maybe last week he would have left that conversation angrier than he was now. He _was_ angry, because they didn’t even _know_ him, they weren’t even around enough to make those grand assumptions and accusations. He was…he was good. Maybe not the best, but he was a good person. He was respectable. 

Maybe last week he would have exhausted over what else he could do to fulfill what ever role his parents expected of him, but this week he shed his clothes, splayed out stomach first on his bed, and did something much more fun.

To: Timmy

< so what does one wear to a potential oscar-worthy performance ? >

The reply came back in minutes. 

< **waaaaaat** > Armie chuckled, rolling over so he was holding his phone above his face as he typed.

< i have to go to one next thursday >

< **Armie????** >

< **Are you ok** >

< duh im okay, this is a pressing matter >

< did you even save my number? That hurts tim >

< **you didn’t GIVE me it. Hii.** >

< shit. Sorry. Hi back! >

< **you can wear anYthing. Seriously. its dark.** >

< haha, I’m liking this already! >

< **and its tony** >

< What? >

< **Plays get TONYS** >

< shiiiiiit! >

< **I forgive you!** >

< you are too kind. >

< **(...)** >

< >

< **(...)** >

< >

< **did you get home okay?** >

< nope. Crashed. This is ghost Armie >

< **OKAY RUDE** >

< how are your texts somehow hurting my ears ? >

< **OH sorry** >

< **my bad** >

< **sorry** >

< I’m just kidding! >

< i like it >

< who needs ears? >

< **football players to hear the whistle** >

< I can’t believe you know there’s a whistle! ;) >

< **FUNNY** >

< You’re right! >

< **(...)** >

< **i am *sleep emoji* *sleep emoji* *zzz* *zzz*** >

< **can we text tomorrow?** >

< **not to put you on the spot** >

< **I can also just see u in class** >

< and miss you yelling at me through my screen? Fat chance. Goodnight! >

< **Okay! NIGHT** >

\--

“What’s got you looking all distraught at your phone this morning?”

Armie looked up from where he was leaning on the side of Nick’s locker distractedly before frowning back at his phone. 

“Timmy asked me what my favorite cereal is.”

“You eat Coco-Puffs when you come to my house,” Nick shrugged.

“Right! I forgot about Coco-Puffs.” Armie mumbled as he shook his head and pressed send on his phone before pocketing it. 

“Timmy and his friend Saoirse are gonna steal a couple of seats in my row. Can they sit with you and Ash this Saturday?” 

“Yeah dude, of course. That’s cool. They don’t seem like the type who’d come.”

“I know, fuck. They might be bored to death.” Armie pulled his hand through his hair. That was definitely something he was slightly worried about, because he’d just be this tiny speck on a huge field. He understood the allure of _playing_ the sport, and could appreciate watching strictly _because_ he played and knew how hard everything was behind the scenes, but Timmy knew next to nothing, and Armie didn’t want him to be standing around in a crowd that would likely make him nervous. He really had to teach him the basics at some point. 

“Nah, it’s an adrenaline rush for sure. They just have to, like, clap when everyone else claps.” 

Armie laughed and hit him on the shoulder. “That’s fucking crazy. I said the same thing.”

Nick smiled back. “Great minds.” He said, shoving Armie back and watching him fish out his recently pocketed phone. 

\--

By the time speech rolled around it was like he had been with Timmy the whole day. He walked towards their little mashing of desks with a grin, waggling his eyebrows and pulling his bag off his shoulder. Timmy was watching him carefully with a small smile on his face, his fist tucked into his neck. 

“Why, hello.” He said, taking the seat next to Timmy and spreading his legs out to his side. He tapped the side of Timmy’s combat boot with the toe of his converse. 

“I like these.” Timmy made a show of leaning over the desk to see what he was looking at. 

“Oh. Thank you.” He looked down, still clutching the rounded edges of the desk with both hands. 

“Are you actually matching today?”

Timmy laughed. “Heyy I match.”

“I don’t know about that. A lot of colors going on usually.” 

“What about you? Another polo with your letterman jacket? Groundbreaking.” 

Armie looked at him sort of shocked and barked out a laugh.

“Ouch. Touché.”

“Not that I don’t _like_ the jacket –”

Armie kicked Timmy’s shin with the side of his foot.

“Timmy stop, it was funny, you’re ruining it.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry!” Armie laughed. 

Timmy side-eyed him before leaning forward again in his desk to whisper lowly. “Sorry.” They both smiled and Armie rolled his eyes. When he looked up he saw that Elizabeth and Colin were already sitting and settled in their respective desks.

“Hello group,” He said, surprised. 

“Hey,”

“Hey.”

“So today I thought it would be beneficial to do an exercise on nonverbal language.” Mr. Guadagnino called out to the class. Everyone began to quiet.

“You can’t just be sluuuumping like this while you are up doing your speech, or touuuuching your shirt, or clutching your armmm,” He mimicked the movements exaggeratedly. “We have to realize how influential these kinds of movements are in your speech and how much an audience can gain from it, both advantageous or detrimental.” He looked around the room with clasped hands for second before continuing.

“You can stay in these groups and I will pass out the supplies.”

They were all given worksheets with small snippets of dialogue which they would have to act out rather than say blatantly, so everyone else could guess what they’re trying to say. 

“Okay, I can go first.” Elizabeth nodded. She squinted at the paper before putting it down and sitting up straighter, and then she rolled her eyes, shook her head and pointed lazily off into the corner.

“ _God, can you just go get that for me and shut up_ ” Armie said immediately. Elizabeth laughed. 

“That was pretty much it, it was actually ‘Just hurry up and grab it for me’ so I’m counting that as a win.”

“You did good,” Armie nodded, impressed.

“You guessed good! Colin do you wanna go?”

Colin nodded. He mumbled the words to himself, then looked up and rubbed both hands on his temples and scrunched his eyes shut, making a huge sobbing frown.

“Is it, _this hurts so bad?”_ ” Elizabeth asked.

“No, I think its something like, _Fuuuuuuck I’m so sorry I’m so sorry shit, fuck._ ” Armie groaned. 

“Yeah, Armie I’m sure Mr. Guadagnino wrote three swear words into one line,” She laughed. 

“It was kind of both,” Colin smiled shyly. “Mine was, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry’”

“I _totally_ said that.” Armie countered. “I totally beat you.” He said looking at Elizabeth triumphantly. She rolled her eyes and smiled, holding out both hands in defense.

When he turned he saw Timmy with one hand up curled on his ear, his cheek resting on his forearm against the desk and drawing patterns on the table with his fingers. He put one foot behind the heel of Timmy’s shoe. 

“What do you think Tim, did I win?” Timmy looked up and gave him half a smile. 

“Yeah, sure.”

Armie grinned at him reassuringly because he seemed to have crawled back into his shell for some reason. He stretched out both legs to fit behind where Timmy’s were crossed at the ankles beneath him and leaned back. “Your turn.”

Timmy glanced at the paper before looking up. He looked down to the corner of his desk, licked the expanse of his top teeth and puffed out a breath, smiling humorlessly, shaking his head. 

Armie was mesmerized by how hard Timmy’s face was, his jaw clenching and unclenching, looking sharp instead of how he usually imagined it. Was his jaw always that sharp?

“I can’t believe you would do that.” Armie said quietly. Timmy looked at him, taken aback.

“Yeah, that’s – word for word.”

“You’re Oscar-worthy.” Armie shook his head, smiling.

Timmy scrunched his face up like he was about to object but he smiled, looking down at his hands clasped together. He pushed back on Armie’s leg behind him. 

“Will you just go already?”

Armie tipped his head back and forth, mimicking him mockingly, and sat up in his chair to look over his sentence. 

_What do you want me to say?_

He looked down, put his lip between his teeth before peering up at all of them and shaking his head, pushing his shoulders up by his chin in a hapless shrug.

“It’s hopeless.” Elizabeth said. Armie smiled and shook his head.

“I can’t do this right now.” Colin offered. Armie mashed his lips together.

“Nope.”

He looked at Timmy, who was looking at him, and they stared at each other intently while Timmy’s mouth moved opened and closed. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Timmy squinted, before this face went soft again. Armie let out a breath, suddenly relieved. 

“You got it.” he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [foryou-insilence ](https://foryou-insilence.tumblr.com) and [694699](https://694699.tumblr.com) write an amazing story that is completely text-centered and i didn't even think to credit them for doing it because i suck, please go read [between the lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858212/chapters/31877952), they deserve all the props! :)


	8. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> timmy freaks out in italics and i can't stop him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to i had to i had to

They were walking down the hall after speech when Armie turned to him.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

Timmy jerked his head up and his heart went straight to his stomach.

“What do you mean?” He laughed, breathlessly.

“I wanna skip school; please? Can we?” And now, as if the first sentence wasn’t enough, there was Armie, with his hands up in a prayer bouncing restlessly on his feet, and his eyes, and his hair, and his brows quirked the same way they did when he was nervous, or maybe uncomfortable, Timmy was still not sure. 

“What about... I have theater next, remember?” Wrong choice of words, why was he assuming? Fuck. “I mean, I’ve only said that once before, I don’t expect you to –” 

“Which is why we can go after your class, because I have lunch, and it’s meatball day.” Armie grinned widely, his teeth pointy and neat.

Meatballs. He put that into the back of his head.

Timmy wanted to know everything about Armie and it was pathetic. He would hide his head in his pillow after every text he sent, because he just kept asking things, incredibly irrelevant things that he just wanted to _have_ , just wanted to cup in his hand and _look at_ , and not show anybody, while at the same time showing _everybody_. 

But Armie would always reply, and always tell him exactly what he wanted to know, and be charming about it, and tease him just the right amount, because that was the perfect description of Armie, _just the right amount._ He’d turned into fucking Goldilocks in the span of 7 days. 

“But what about... but what about the other ones?” He probably sounded so square, but he really didn’t want to get in any trouble. 

“My pal Brenda in administration will take care of alllll of that.” Armie said, patting his head, no, _messing with his curls_ was a better description. Timmy felt heat rising to his face so he hit Armie’s hand away and laughed, and Armie laughed too. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” _He’s got me._

“He’s got you?!?” Saoirse whisper-screamed, pushing two fists up to cover her mouth. 

“So, I won’t be at lunch today?” Timmy looked at her, panicked, clenching his fists, needing _something_ other than her shocked stare.

“This is crazy,” She shook her head in small shakes, looking serious, her lips pursed. “I’m watching you fall in love before my eyes.”

“Can you _stop_ ,” He gritted out, pushing her behind the lighting box and looking around frantically. “You’re projecting.”

“I have nothing to project _from_!”

“No!” Timmy shooed and frowned. “Your voice! You’re projecting your voice!” It was very hard for him to relay frustration when his anger could only be rasped quietly. “They’re like centipedes, one means there’re at least 10 more we don’t see.” He looked around suspiciously before looking back at Saoirse biting back a laugh.

“It’s not funny!”

She held onto his elbows and sunk into his grasp on her arms. “It’s a little funny.”

Timmy groaned, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. She smoothed down the back of his hair.

“I don’t need them to hate me more than they do.”

Saoirse sighed. “My sweet, you’re talented, it’s not your fault, and they know it.”

“Think of _them_... thinking of _me_... having a friend –”

“Boyfriend.”

“ _Friend_ , on the football team.” he muffled those last words into her neck.

“They’d be bitter.” He felt her nod.

“And they’re already bitter!”

“Again, not your fault!”

He sighed, pulling his head away and biting his lip. “I guess.” She slapped his cheek softly.

“I won’t tell anyone, Pony. But also, we _are_ going to be sitting in the stands, in _his_ row, next to his friends? You said his friends right?” He puffed out his cheeks and nodded. 

“I mean, if they – if people _see_ me with him that’s fine.” He reasoned. “Because then it’s not just this idea in their head of me pining after a high school champion quarterback, consistently and pathetically.”

“That just sounds like what _you_ think this is.” 

“And who wouldn’t! I am in the majority!” 

It was stupid how sacred he considered this. He just, didn’t want this thing that sometimes happened to be flooded with all these other opinions... all these other, very correct, opinions. 

The static of the speaker came to life. “Timmy, we need you in the left wing.” 

So he went, not hearing Saoirse’s repeated argument until he came back from getting his measurements taken on the other side of backstage. 

“Timmy, who else is he being this nice to?” She looked at him pointedly, arms crossed.

“Oh I don’t know, maybe, Elizabeth?” 

Saoirse rolled her eyes. “Ignoring that. He said like two words to her that were vaguely pleasant, you’re just being possessive. He can have _friends_. You haven’t even told me what happened last night!”

 _Possessive._ God, he really was stupid. 

“Okay fine, I’m going into swooning mode, though, so I am not responsible for any dumb shit I say.”

“You are, but go on.” Saoirse nodded, gesturing him forth with her hand. 

“Well,” He looked down and smiled softly, curling hair behind his ear. “He picked me up where he usually does,”

“Your spot.” Timmy glared at her.

“ _Not,_ ” She raised her eyebrows at him and he let out a breath. “Okay, it can be referred to as our spot.” The thought did give him a heady ache in his chest. He held onto both elbows and swayed a little as he stood.

“And - _I don’t know,_ he just... he calls me things.”

“He _calls you things?_ ”

“Like on Monday he called me Karate Kid because I said I take taekwondo –”

“How did that come up?”

“Because he said I couldn’t defend myself.”

“And how did _that_ come up?”

“You just had to be there! You’re missing the point!” He looked at her insistently before pouting. “Stop interrupting.” Saoirse huffed with a smile and nodded for him to go on.

“So last night he called me Oscar-worthy, which is what he called me in class because we did the activity I told you about.” 

“Yeah, you show off. I bet he’d get a kick out of knowing what your name is in this.” She gestured around the stage. Timmy smiled and nodded.

“Maybe he would. I should text him –” he began pulling out his phone. He smiled at the picture Armie had sent him. _Meatballs!!!!!_. 

“Oh my god, your face. What did he just text you.” He held up the phone for her and she squinted at it before leaning back and staring at him blankly. “God, you are so gone.”

“I know,” He groaned, holding his head in his hand. 

“Keep going, Tim; Oscar-worthy?”

“Right, right. Man, he got my phrase word for word Sersh, like I’m not trying to be cheesy or anything but...” Timmy shook his head. “and I... I got his too.” Saoirse looked at him sympathetically. 

“Anyways. He actually wanted to talk about speech class which he never wants to talk about. He always wants to change the subject. So I, you know, tried to compliment him without sounding like I worshipped him or anything, and he was happy I think.” Timmy shrugged.

“He made this, like, comment about how I keep asking him things, which was fucking embarrassing, because I _do, profusely_ , but the way he said it was just... like he didn’t know why I even wanted to. Which is crazy, right? And I told him, I kind of looked at him weirdly and was like, ‘whaaaaat? If anything, you should be telling me to stop caring so much.’ Obviously I couldn’t even look him in the eye the whole time either. But when I did, he was just kind of _looking at me_. Like the way he did when he let me hear the song he liked?” Timmy looked up at the ceiling dejectedly, put his arms over his head and whined. “I just wanted to hold his fucking hand.” 

“Awwwwww Pony,” Saoirse hugged him, a mix between a laugh and understanding groan. 

“Luca’s going to kill us, we haven’t done anything all class.” He said, hugging her back. 

“Oscar and Charity need some bonding time, right?” She linked their arms and the bell rang just in time, so they walked out the double doors and into the halls.

He saw Armie leaning against his locker as they approached, and if Saoirse hadn’t been pulling him along he definitely would have fumbled a lot more than he did. He was all long legs, broad shoulders, floppy hair... and at _his_ locker. 

Armie looked up from his phone when he heard their footsteps and smiled at him, then looked at Saoirse, then straightened up to a stand. 

“Hey, I was just trying to text you. Hi, I’m Armie, I know we’ve sort of been around each other before but –”

“Yes, of course, I’m Saoirse, I know who you are.” She was smiling at him sweetly, and _why was she looking at him like that._

“Okay! Uh, I’m just going to get my bag.” He pointed towards the locker Armie was leaning on and Armie jerked back, looking sheepish, and moved his arm to lean above Timmy's locker door to give him some room. Which was like, so _not room._

“You’re a pretty bad influence on Sweet Tea over here, huh? He’s never skipped a class in his little life.” Saoirse poked him repeatedly in the shoulder, and he could _feel_ the heat of Armie towering on the other side of him, so he didn’t look up, just side eyed Saoirse and kept putting things into his bag.

“No! I mean, I wouldn’t let it affect Tim’s record or anything, like, I got it all worked out.” Armie was moving his other arm in the air around him, and he usually talked with his hands, but this was like, a lot of talking with his hands. 

“I’m just playing, I know he wants to go.” Timmy looked at her, horrified, and she grinned with her eyes squinted and tapped his nose.

“Yeah let’s leave now before I chicken out.” He rushed, slamming the locker door and walking away from her and all of her _looks_. They were at the top of the school steps before he realized he’d been pulling Armie along with a grip on his wrist and immediately let go, running a hand through his hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t mean – ”

“I hope Saoirse doesn’t really think I’m a bad influence?” Timmy turned to see Armie looking at him with his eyes wide and serious.

“No! She was kidding, you’re not.” Armie didn’t look convinced. Timmy moved closer, shook him on both arms, and repeated himself, because _he_ was supposed to be the nervous one, Armie should never have to be nervous. Hopefully, he was reading this right.

“Don’t worry,” He assured. Armie nodded, and there was a beat of silence before he continued. “This is my first time playing hickey, what are we doing?” 

It immediately made Armie smile, then laugh, then squeeze the bridge of his nose, then put one arm over Timmy’s shoulder. 

“Oh my god, it’s called hooky, Tim, and I can tell.” 

Timmy’s face went hot, because he couldn’t stop embarrassing himself today, and because the back of his neck was surrounded in Armie, and because as they walked down the stairs he stumbled and Armie pulled him in by his waist, and he was Prince Charming. He was goddamn Prince Charming. 

He was also laughing at him.

“I’m your ride home, I keep you from falling down...” Armie trailed off thoughtfully. “What else can I be for you Tim?” 

“Nicer?” He chose, out of the thousands, no _millions_ , of potentially hysterical, tear-filled answers.

Armie ruffled his hair. “True.”

They pulled apart as Armie swung around to his side of the car, but not before Armie opened the fucking door for him with a _this is how you wait for something to be unlocked before you open it_. He had to know. He _had_ to know how much Timmy couldn’t handle this. 

But it was as if Armie didn’t remember that he was, like, _Armie_ when they were together, that people adored him and Timmy was no exception. How could he not? Armie was kind and funny and thoughtful. And he was so, so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we all are sweet tea


	9. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hickey! i mean hooky!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you hating me for taking so long is SO FAIR, but also this is 3000 words so likeeeeee forgive me ? :~)
> 
> your comments give me life, sorry i'm terrible at replying, but know im physically collapsing after reading each one

“You didn’t eat yet right?” Armie asked as he turned into the gas station lot. Timmy shook his head.

“No, but I’m not really hungry, so you don’t have to factor that into whatever plan –” Armie put the car in park and undid his seat belt, frowning quizzically.

“I know I’ve only like, _known you_ known you for like a week, but why do I feel like you’re lying?” He asked, squinting, opening the car door and waiting for Timmy to follow.

“I’m not lying,” Timmy said, eyebrows up, hand in his hair, shaking his head even faster. Armie stared at him from across the roof of the car until he let out a small breath. “Just like, trying to make things _easier_ –” Armie groaned with his head tipped back before he even finished his sentence.

“ _Don’t_.” It was always either people trying to make it easier for him or him trying to make it easier for them, and that always came with so many _expectations_. “Timmy, are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Well let’s fucking _go_.” 

They walked in and Armie lead them toward the chip rack. 

“Okay, we need options.”

Timmy rested his chin in his hand, one finger curling between the line of his lips. Armie smiled at how seriously he was taking this. 

“I like sour cream and cheddar.” He shrugged.

“Gross,” Armie laughed, nudging him and grabbing that one to tuck under his arm along with two others. “Let’s get dip, no, I bet they have guac.” He tugged Timmy’s shirt until they reached the cooler. “Never mind, we’re definitely getting these.” He pulled open the door to get three different sandwiches out of the fridge. 

“Armie! These are,” Timmy tipped the packages over to get a look. “Three days old!” 

Armie shrugged. “I see the sandwich, I want the sandwich, I get the sandwich.”

“You just ate meatballs!” Timmy laughed. 

“Yeah, and I’m still gonna get a hot dog,” Armie leaned his face closer to him, defiant, and Timmy rolled his eyes, nudging him away by one shoulder. He stepped back, pleased with himself, and looked around the store again before dumping a lot of the stuff into Timmy’s arms without much warning. “Okay, now candy.”

He heard Timmy yelp softly, his knees giving in a little to support the pile of food now in his arms, and Armie walked backwards down the candy aisle, pulling everything out of it’s box and holding it up, watching to see if Timmy’s nose scrunched or not, transferring it to the crook of his elbow when he deemed it necessary. Timmy was laughing the whole time as Armie made good and bad faces at his choices, because who actually liked dark chocolate?

“it’s good!” Timmy pouted. Which was funny, so he allowed it.

He got a hotdog for Timmy too, even though he’d groaned when he did, got to the register and pulled out his wallet.

“I’m paying for half.” Timmy said, pushing everything on the counter and putting his hand in his back pocket.

“Sorry you can’t, they don’t do that here.” Armie said over his shoulder.

“They most definitely do that here!” Timmy huffed.

“Hey,” Armie squinted at the woman’s name tag. “Greta. You guys don’t split bills here, right?” He gave her a smile as he leaned in over the counter. She rolled her eyes at him, but Armie decided it was fond.

“Just let him pay for it honey,” She said, tapping on the screen and looking at Timmy. Armie turned around.

“Yeah, honey.” He said, grinning. It made Timmy get all embarrassed, which was honestly the goal.

They walked out with way too many bags in their hands, and Armie knocked them together with Timmy’s on their way to the car so he’d look at him.

“Now we need somewhere to lay this all out and get to _work_.” He grinned, patting his stomach as the plastic swung around his wrist. 

Timmy looked down at his feet and nodded, his curls all bumping into his forehead before he turned toward him again. “We could go to my house.” He shrugged slightly, biting his lip.

Armie frowned. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Timmy assured him that Saoirse was joking, but it definitely did give him a reality check, because duh, he did come off as a bad influence, and now he was coercing Timmy to leave school, which he obviously never does. He’d just been in a good mood and didn’t feel like spending it in class, it was very impulsive and he hadn’t been thinking. The outcome of his request was turning out to be incredibly positive though.

“I won’t, no one’s home, stop pretending you’re the big bad wolf or something.” Timmy gave a dramatic roll of his eyes and leaned one hip against the side of Armie’s car to wait for him to pop open the trunk. Armie chuckled and shook his head, setting the bags down to grab for the keys. 

“Are you the pigs or little red?” 

Timmy shrugged, curling into his shoulder, one hand rubbing the side of his face and the other jiggling a bag. “I do have the sweets for it.” 

The thought of Timmy in one of his renowned hoodies, skipping along with a basket of pastries immediately flashed through his mind, and he was surprised by how accurate the image was, how easily Timmy fit into such a sweet scene.

“Okay. Yeah. We can do that.” He nodded, looking up at Timmy who seemed like he _was_ going to start skipping around at any second, which made Armie feel better about commandeering his house unexpectedly. 

Timmy had that same bounce as he put down the bags on his front stoop, unlocked the door, looked back at Armie mischievously as he set the house key back under the potted fern next to the doormat, and dragged everything with him when he pushed it open with his shoulder. The house was quaint and cheerful, with lots of pictures up on the light green walls. The warm wood floors creaked as Armie padded in, toed off his sneakers where Timmy had, and followed him down the hall. 

“Please don’t look at any of these,” Timmy said, but he was laughing lightly, turning back to Armie and gesturing to the frames with his chin. Of course it made Armie look, and there was a picture of smaller Timmy, with his sister in their living room, and another Armie recognized from the library article, and another with the whole family in front of one of those cheesy backdrops and bright lights. 

“I think my moms going to hate me, she always thinks the house is too much of a mess for guests even right after we’ve cleaned. That’s the bathroom if you need it, and you can come see my room! Armie?”

Armie turned from where he was still standing, surrounded by pictures of Timmy he’d never seen before, knowing each of them had a story and wanting to hear them all.

“I really like your house.” 

Timmy grinned and swayed where he stood. “Thanks.”

“Was this Christmas?”

“Oh man, yeah, I got like, six power rangers that year. Little Timmy was having the time of his life.” Armie smiled, wanting to reach out and poke Timmy’s little cheeks. His hair was lighter and straighter, not the mess of dark unruly curls he had now. His smile was somehow the same.

“Armiiiieeeee,” Timmy was slumping by the stairs, whining and tilting his head up toward them. It made Armie roll his eyes and walk away from the wall of pictures, bumping into Timmy with the whole side of his body.

“You’re cranky when you haven’t eaten.”

Timmy’s room was dark blue yet still bright, with posters stuck on the wall and even on the ceiling. All of it surprised him – the one of 50 cent in the corner, the Dark Knight movie poster by the window, the signed Stoudemire jersey in a frame above his bed. 

“Oh I see, you’ll watch basketball but not football,” Armie said, trying to sound offended as he set the bags down on his bed. Timmy followed his line of sight and nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He grinned. “Nah, that’s just something me and my dad do, I waited outside to get that signed, you know.”

Armie looked around more, at the little league and soccer trophies on Timmy’s shelves, at the big tank of _something_ sitting on his desk.

“That’s Urdle!” Timmy said, coming behind Armie and hugging the backrest of the desk chair as he climbed up to peer over his shoulder. 

“You named your turtle _Urdle_?” Timmy shrugged a yes.

Armie looked back at the little guy swimming and climbing over little rocks, then back to Timmy behind his shoulder, who was looking at him with his chin rested on the chair.

“You’re like, incredibly cool, you know that?”

Timmy laughed. “What? Stop.”

“I’m serious. You just – do things unlike anyone else. You’re you first. That’s cool.”

Timmy hid behind his chair and groaned, rubbing his cheek along the top when he looked up at him again. “Oookay, says the football quarterback who is nice to me for some reason.” He said through his eyelashes, small smile on his face.

Armie gave him a look, because it wasn’t just for some reason. 

“Says the theater prodigy who actually cares about what I have to say.”

He felt like that string of words was vomited out, pulled from his chest where he didn’t even know he was keeping them, but they were so true once he said it. It was one of the things that drew him towards Timmy since the beginning, and now he was reeled in, addicted, because it wasn’t even about that anymore, he just liked being around Timmy the more he learned about him. 

He realized they weren’t talking, just watching each other, and Timmy finally moved, raising his hand to pull a curl off of his forehead, and Armie watched the motion, watched it get picked up and fall right back into his face, and he smiled. 

“For some reason,” he added, spinning Timmy around in his chair, walking towards the bed to dump food all over it and sit against the headboard. He reached into one bag. “I’m definitely going to need to witness you eating this chocolate bar without cringing now.”

“Easy.” Timmy said, jumping onto the bed and sitting next to him, folding one foot under his thigh to make room for everything, grabbing it from Armie’s hand and ripping open the wrapper to take one big bite. “Mmm.” He hummed, mouth full and smiling with no teeth up at him. Armie scrunched his nose and laughed, scooting closer to reach over and grab the chips from the bag next to Timmy’s hip, elbowing him in the ribs when he tried to open it, and then it was just them, in a fit of giggles and Armie apologizing, and opening the three other bags, and stuffing chips into all of the sandwiches, and forcing Timmy to take a bite even though he kept whining that they were ancient. 

“Tell me that is not a good turkey and cheese.” Armie said with his mouth full, having taken a bite from the same one he pushed in Timmy’s face. 

“I am concerned about the amount of times you’ve probably bought these, honestly.” Timmy said, chewing with one hand over his mouth. “But the barbeque chips are definitely a good addition.”

Everything got opened and and at least bitten, and maybe a little thrown around, once Armie realized gummy worms could be launched like sling shots it was pretty downhill from there. 

“Okay, open.” Armie said, opening his mouth too so Timmy would mimic him and scooting back. Timmy did, and Armie flicked his wrist to try to aim a jelly bean into his mouth, and it hit Timmy high on the cheekbone instead, making Timmy jerk away and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Aren’t you supposed to be good at throwing?” He laughed, which made Armie gasp and just start pelting him.

“Yeah, I am, look, here, I’ll show you,” He said, a jellybean hitting Timmy’s shoulder, then chest, then neck with every word. Timmy tried to block him with his arms, yelling, and then Armie threw one that _actually_ got in his mouth by _chance_ , and they froze, eyes wide, then both put their fists up in the air and shouted their cheers, collapsing into one heap at the head of the bed, laughing and leaning on each other and high fiving lazily.

“God, wait, that reminds me of this video I saw once,” Armie said, pulling out his phone from his pocket and searching through the internet before pulling it up. 

They sat watching compilations of guys making insanely tricky shots into baskets and garbage cans, with basketballs and soccer balls and even Frisbees; and they would look at each other after particularly good ones, Timmy watching with his cheek on the side of Armie’s bicep, both of them laughing in amazement and pressing on other videos in the sidebar. Timmy showed him this one of two guys freestyling back and forth at each other and he kept hitting him in the arm repeatedly _right_ before they said a particularly impressive diss.

“Please remind me to never watch any movies you’ve already seen when you’re around, I’ll know the ending in the first five minutes.” Armie said, poking Timmy in the side until he curled in on himself. 

“Ah! Stop! Okay that’s probably – true,” Timmy laughed, struggling to twist away from him but never taking his head off Armie’s shoulder. 

“Tim?”

They both looked up to see someone standing in the doorway.

“Pauline!” Timmy said, scrambling up onto his knees on the bed attentively.

“You’re home already?”

“Uhm, yah, you’re home already?”

“In the flesh.” She stuck her head out to look behind him. “Hi, I’m Timmy’s sister.”

Armie gave her one wave. “Armie.”

“Ahhhh. I see.”

“How was class? Or did you have work today? Or are you leaving for work soon? Like, now?” Timmy said, jumping in, and Armie watched him, enjoying the knowledge that he was like this _all_ the time, apparently.

Pauline didn’t answer him, instead she scanned the bed and raised her eyebrows. 

“You’re not allowed to eat in your room.” She smirked, and Timmy groaned, head tipping back.

“That was when I was a _child_ to keep me from spilling grape juice on the carpet.” 

“Didn’t you just spill grape juice like, a week and a half ago?”

“ _No_ I _didn’t_ ”

“Yeah, and you tried to clean it up before mom saw you but she came in with your laundry – look! It’s still there!” Armie craned his neck to see where she was pointing by the desk and smiled at the light reddish stain, the carpet looking particularly fuzzy and scrubbed in that spot.

“Stop _saying things_ ” Timmy said, rubbing his eyes and whining. He searched blindly on the bed with one hand and held out a bag of Swedish Fish. 

“Here. Go away now.”

Pauline smiled, walking over to pluck the bag from his fingers, popping three in her mouth before she left the room. 

“You should stay for dinner, Armie,” She said over her shoulder. “I’ll call Mom right. Now.”

When she left, Timmy melted between the food with his hands still over his eyes, humming things into the mattress and shaking his head. 

“A lot of things just happened at the same time.” Armie chuckled, one finger going to tickle the back of Timmy’s neck until he squirmed out of reach. Just then a low rumble was heard by both of them outside, and Armie looked up to see that it was raining, heavily, the sky dark with grey clouds, the windows streaking quickly with fat drops. 

“Well I guess I’m not going to practice today.” Armie said, still looking out. He looked back at Timmy who was still in his same position. 

“Wait, do you have rehearsals? We should go soon,” He looked at his watch and started to move around the bed.

“I don’t” He heard Timmy muffle.

“What?”

“I don’t have rehearsals.”

“But, you didn’t tell me. What would you have done if we hadn’t ditched school?”

He watched Timmy’s back shrug. “Wait for you.”

“What?” Armie laughed. Timmy finally sat back up on one hip, keeping his balance with both hands in front of him and looking up at Armie through his hair. 

“I am already thoroughly embarrassed, so I might as well just say I would have sat and waited for you to take me home even though I didn’t have rehearsals today.”

Armie grinned, scooting closer to poke Timmy in the cheek. “You like hanging out with meeeeee,” He sing songed, making Timmy roll his eyes. “I mean, I was just going to leave my beloved turkey and cheese behind to drive in the rain and get you to rehearsals.” He said, shrugging. “I probably would have waited to pick you up too.” He wasn’t even trying to make Timmy feel better, it was just the truth.

Timmy was biting his lip and staring at him. “Do you wanna stay for dinner?”

“Yes please.” 

“Okay.”

He crawled back up to where Armie was sitting and rested his head back on him as Armie pulled up another video. 

“Do you know what this is the perfect time for?” He asked, looking down at Timmy as Timmy gave him a curious face. “You learning about the joys of _football_.” He said, and Timmy groaned, but nuzzled further into his sleeve.

“This was a mistake.” He said.

“Yes, it was,” Armie agreed.


	10. Wednesday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> armie! is! fed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will not be worth the wait!

Tim had fallen asleep fairly quickly into Armie’s extensive and impromptu football seminar - which mostly included a bunch of football highlight videos with fail videos sprinkled in just to keep his attention - Armie noticed when the rumbling of Timmy’s laughter on his shoulder became softer and slower, until he was just breathing on his arm, his weight slumped more heavily than it had been while he was awake. Armie had shaken his shoulder a bit then chuckled when Tim’s head flopped along with it, stopped the video, and switched to his front facing camera to snap a picture of Timmy’s mouth slightly parted, the top of his cheek dragging down and smashing against the skin of Armie’s bicep. 

He glanced up from his phone when he saw movement by the door - it was Pauline, who then backed up and swung her hand around the doorframe, her long hair falling as she tipped her head in. 

“He fall asleep on you?” Armie smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, I was boring him with football stats.” He tried to whisper. Pauline scrunched her face and it looked just like Timmy’s grimace, so Armie gestured to it with a tilt of his head. “Kind of like that.”

“Well you can help with dinner if you want, or watch TV with me downstairs, or do literally anything better than waiting for my brother to wake up.” Pauline shrugged, and Armie thought about waving the offer away because he was comfortable enough, sitting here with his legs splayed out playing with his phone as Timmy slept, but instead he shrugged back, inched away and put a hand behind Timmy’s head to lay him safely on the pillows without waking him, probably putting way too much focus into it because he looked up and Pauline was giving him a weird smile. 

“What?”

“I’d have just pushed him over.”

“Right.” Armie looked down at Timmy who was now curling into himself with both hands resting under his cheek. “Next time.”

They walked downstairs to see Timmy’s father stirring over the stove and his mother chopping something next to him, both of them bumping hips with increasing intensity and laughing, then turning around when they heard them coming down the stairs. 

“Hi! Hello! You must be Armie.” Timmy’s Mom was small and gracious, hugging Armie immediately and keeping her hand above his elbow, squeezing as she talked. “You’ll stay for dinner right, hon? We’d love to get to know another one of Timmy’s friends.”

“Of course, if you’ll have me.” Armie smiled tentatively, a little startled. He was normally quite charming when it came to parents, but in this kitchen, with the hiss of sizzling onions, the sway of soft music playing from the speaker on the windowsill above the sink, the heat of the oven, half open, broiling something garlicky, the ease at which Pauline flitted towards the chopping board, picking up where Timmy’s Mom - Nicole - left off, getting slapped away playfully by Timmy’s dad - Marc - when she was putting more cherry tomatoes in her mouth than in the bowl, there was no inclination to say the right thing.

He set the table because placemats and forks were pushed into his arms, and settled the debate of whether all the food should be lined up on the kitchen island or passed around as they ate - passed around, he decided, because it seemed nicer, louder, and he was enjoying all the noise.

“Timmy says you’re both in speech class together?” Nicole said more than asked, and before Armie could answer Pauline was close to snorting, her eyebrows raised. 

“Mom’s being polite, we know everything about you. Timmy never stops.” Her smirk faltered, and Armie only caught the end of a stern look from Nicole before she was back to hunting through the fridge. 

“I’m so sorry, that must have been incredibly boring.” Armie laughed, even though his chest felt warm, because he was talked about a lot in this town, but probably not the same way Timmy talked about him, like he was more than a championship title. That made them all start laughing, and when Pauline passed him she punched him in the shoulder, and he pretended that it hurt way more than it did, and it felt significant in some way, and Timmy’s family was even better than they looked in all the pictures lining their hallways. 

Armie glanced up to see Timmy slump down the stairs from his spot on the couch, with a slice of baguette stuffed into his mouth because Pauline snuck one over to him. He was dopey and half lidded, his hair more of a mess than usual, and he made a beeline to Nicole, resting his cheek on the top of her head. 

Armie had never noticed how tall Timmy was until he saw him towering over his family, and even then he crouched his gangly limbs all over them, interlocking his fingers with his mother when she kissed the top of his hand, it seemed too sweet for Armie to watch, but he didn’t have time to think so for very long.

“Way to go completely abandoning your house guest Tim.” Pauline called out, curled on the loveseat perpendicular to him. Timmy looked up and Armie smiled widely around the food in his mouth, waving at him with the hand he had around the back of the couch. 

“Arm - _Armie_ ,” Timmy stuttered, his eyes flitting, his finger pointing absentmindedly to his chest. “I - I fell asleep, I fell asleep _on you_ ,” Armie watched him amusedly, slightly impressed that a 45 minute nap could dishevel him to this extent, but then again this was Timmy, who always found a way to be impressive.

“Yeah Tim, maybe I should just come over to hang out with your family from now on, they don’t see me as just a body pillow.” He and Pauline shared a smug look before turning back to Tim simultaneously, munching mockingly. Timmy eyed both of them back and forth and couldn’t hold back his laugh as he groaned. 

“Pauline stop stealing my friends,” he said, walking to the cupboard to find the cups, his shoulders relaxing. Armie felt himself relaxing too. 

“Don’t spill.” Armie said, smiling around the drink Timmy handed to him as he sat down. Pauline cracked up and Timmy rolled his eyes, but his neck was slightly pinker than it had been before. Armie poked Timmy in the side once he was settled next to him. “I heard you talk about me a lot,” he accused, leaning back with one arm stretched across the back of the couch.

“What?” Timmy choked, his eyes darting to Pauline who was still snickering, her head resting on her elbow at the arm of the couch. 

“I mean I get it, I’m amazing.” Armie said, nodding seriously with one hand placed over his heart before he broke, tongue licking at one side of his smile. Timmy pushed him, so he hooked his arm around his neck in retaliation, only stopping when he realized Timmy was about to spill _another_ drink on _another_ carpet, and he would like to be allowed back into this house. 

“How am I already regretting this dinner before I’ve even eaten it?” Timmy asked. Armie watched him suck the minimal spillage off the bone of his wrist. 

“You better eat it, I chopped all the mushrooms.” He said proudly, looking to Pauline for approval. She was watching them with her eyebrows up before shaking her head and beginning to type something on her phone. 

“He did chop the mushrooms. Very terribly, but with a lot of concentration, which counts, I guess.”

“Pauline, we’re only teasing Timmy.” Armie huffed as Timmy hummed happily at his sister.

“How do you chop mushrooms badly?” 

“All different sizes, stems still in, attempting to scoop out the ‘gross looking brown stuff’ inside.” Pauline mumbled without looking up.

Armie side-eyed Tim with pursed lips, saw that he was gawking with wide eyes.

“Have you – Armie have you never eaten a mushroom before?” He asked, barely able to get the words out.

“Why would I – who eats those! It’s not abnormal to have not – shut up!” He tried to say over Timmy’s wheezing laughter. He grabbed the cup out of Timmy’s hand and chugged the rest of his drink - which made him laugh louder – so he could tackle him into the couch and squeeze at his sides. Timmy yelped and squirmed and when Armie finally took mercy on him, they were both breathing hard, Armie’s hands on either side of Timmy’s chest as their laughter died down. 

Timmy’s hair was flown wildly around the throw pillow below him. The movement of his neck bobbing up and down as he swallowed caught Armie’s attention, and he followed it all the way up to where Timmy was licking his upper lip before he leaned down closer.

“Are you not allowed to eat the mushroom stems?” He whispered lowly. Timmy let out a large breath and chuckled, squeezing his eyes shut briefly and nodding.

“Yes – I – Pauline’s just picky. You can eat the mushroom stems.”

“Okay, good.” Armie sighed, sliding back up and pulling Timmy into an upright position next to him.

“Mushrooms are like, a normal vegetable; I can’t believe you’ve never had them before.”

Armie shrugged. “My mom doesn’t make dinner.”

That even got Pauline to look up curiously from her phone. “Never?” She asked.

“No, I mean, she must have when I was younger, just not recently. I became a six foot five giant, so it definitely didn’t stunt me,” He laughed, albeit nervously, now that they were both staring at him, quiet. “It’s because my dad’s never home early enough for dinner, and my brother’s in college,” He elaborated. They both nodded slowly. 

“Well obviously you need practice cutting mushrooms, because you suck,” Timmy said, patting his knee. “So you’re gonna have to stay for dinner way more, man, it’s the only way.”

“Agreed,” Pauline chimed in, going back to tapping on her phone.

“First of all, I’m good at everything,” Armie said, eyeing them both. Timmy watched him with raised eyebrows, and Armie stared back. “I don’t really have a second of all.” He whispered after a long pause, and smiled cheesily when Timmy shook his head. There was definitely instant regret in telling them that, because now he felt embarrassed for not having all of this, the family dinners and mushrooms in the salads and making fun of each other without it being actual criticism. It wasn’t just that he was allowed to be here, he felt like they wanted him to be here. 

He ate huge platefuls of salad and baked spaghetti and bread with garlic and cheese. They passed them around the table and Timmy would nudge what ever platter he had in his hand at him, one thumb in his mouth to catch the sauce that dripped from the edge. 

“Come onnn eatttt,” He drew out, shaking a fistful of Armie’s t-shirt sleeve in his hand. “Football players are bottomless pits,” he scraped some noodles off his plate with the side of his fork and put them in his mouth. “Probably.” He added with a shrug.

“Falls asleep through a few Youtube videos and now he thinks he’s an expert.” Armie mocked, but he did listen, putting another helping of pasta on his plate, then another when Timmy nodded encouragingly. It was fucking good, so he wasn’t opposed to eating everything offered to him.

“So how do you like Speech Armie?” Nicole asked. “Enjoying it as much as Timmy?” He finished chewing before he answered, his fork twirling absentmindedly in his food as he nodded at her.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, mostly because of Timmy though. Me and Mr. Guadagnino don’t really see eye to eye.” 

“Luca’s pushy as hell.” Pauline nodded. “It’s usually helpful in the long run, but I remember just getting pissed when he directed me.”

“Luca’s your director?” Armie asked, turning to Timmy. He nodded, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

“Yeah. He’s the one who recommended I take speech this year to get ahead. He’s much more laid back as a director. He must see a lot of potential in you though, that’s why he was hyper focused on me last year. At least that’s what he says.”

“Potential?” Armie scoffed, “Potential for what?”

“To be vital, passionate, and uncontrollable” Timmy and Pauline chimed together in their most exaggerated Italian accents, laughing. “He says that all the time,” Timmy explained. “He must see something ready to erupt.” Timmy wiggled his fingers along with his eyebrows.

“I am incredibly dormant.” Armie deadpanned. 

It was true, he had a life that he lived and he knew how to live it. Maybe he wasn’t passionate about football, but he was good, and a lot of the time those two things meant the same thing to him. And he was nothing if not well controlled.

“Dormant? Not at all, dear.” Armie looked up to see Nicole shaking her head. “From what Timmy’s told us, and now meeting you, we can see you are a very thoughtful and genuine. One of a kind. That being said, I expect to be seeing a lot of you from now on.” She said definitely, patting her mouth with her napkin and standing up to start clearing the table. 

“Mom’s adopted you already.” Pauline snorted, following suit.

How could she know that so certainly? Armie had only helped out in the kitchen, and talked to Timmy’s family for less than an hour before Timmy woke up, and yet they already thought so highly of him. It didn’t feel like he’d earned it.

“I am very glad my plan to trick you all into liking me was successful.” He said, nodding with a smile, because how else could he respond to such warm words? They all laughed, and he helped clean up, and he didn’t want to go but he knew he had to.

“So,” Timmy said, as Armie picked his bag up from the corner of his bedroom, slung it around one shoulder and put his hand in his jean pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You will see me tomorrow.” Armie confirmed with a nod, playing with the one strap on his shoulder. “Thanks for,” He trailed off, looking around the room, briefly fixating on the rock collection on the shelf to his left. “This was really nice.”

“Good.” Timmy nodded back, it looked like he was getting nervous again, because his lip was between his teeth, and his hand was pulling at the skin on the back of his neck. “I thought it was nice too.” He stared up at him for a beat, wide eyes blinking and flitting over Armie’s face. “We like you here.”

He felt his eyebrows scrunch, and he spoke softly, as if his words were what would snap them all out of it. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You’re not a monkey,” Timmy said, laughing confusedly. “I’m not waiting for you to do a trick.” 

Of course, Armie thought. The way that sounded was ridiculous. And yet, as he made his way around the house – a silent salute at Pauline’s door, a hug from Timmy’s mom, a squeeze on the shoulder from Timmy’s dad - in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but dwell. 

_You’re not?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://nellipot.tumblr.com)
> 
> can i get past one week? one day even? stay tuned 
> 
> (i love you thank you for reading this)


	11. Wednesday Night (Still)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did i mention how much i missed you guys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehehohohohohohehe

Pauline showed up in his room approximately negative two seconds after Armie left (he swore he heard the front door closing _after_ her steps stopped in the doorway). Her arms were crossed, and they watched each other, silently, before she finally said something.

“I fucking knew it.”

“You know nothing.” Timmy shrugged innocently, everything in him restraining from getting defensive.

“Paulie, you don’t have to pick me up anymore,” She mimicked, cupping her hands underneath her chin. “ _Armie_ can take me.”

“I do _not_ sound like that.” He said, putting his book down haughtily. He wasn’t even reading it, just needed something in his hands so he would stop _thinking_ so much.

“You know Armie said this really interesting thing today, oh, I bet Armie would know, can you believe he grew up in the Caribbean? Armie loves those, he told me last night.” Pauline went on, her voice syrupy and swooning, and Timmy could hear just the slightest bit of authenticity to her tone, which made it worse.

“I get it Pauline! I’m an idiot, can we move on?” He tipped his head back onto his headboard and groaned, covering both eyes with his fingertips, mashing and stretching out his skin. When he opened them again, Pauline was frowning.

“You know he likes you too, right?” She asked. Timmy just rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you _don’t_.” She rushed forward and flopped down on the edge of the bed, one knee coming up and bumping Timmy’s shin. “Timmy. That boy is gone for you.”

“Don’t just – it’s _fine_ , okay? I don’t need to be babied.” He shook his head, watching his hands play with the hem of his shirt. 

“I never baby you.” Pauline cooed, running her fingers through the front part of his curls. “Except when I baby you.” 

Her hand flopped back on the bed, stern, direct. “But I’m not babying you now. I watched you all night. I watched _him_ all night. He looks at you like –” She trailed off, her eyes going distant.

“Like what?” Timmy pressed after a second, unable to stop himself from being drawn in.

“Like he’s thinking about you. Like he’s thinking about you even though he’s looking straight at you.”

Timmy sighed. “Yeah, well.”

Because what else could he say? That he _didn’t_ hope for it? That there weren’t three separate times today alone that he thought, _this is where we’d kiss_ if they were in a movie, if Armie wasn’t straight, and if there wasn’t literally an entire town vying for his affections. Maybe then, Armie’d think of some boy two years his junior, who does plays in his spare time and has watched every Christian Bale movie there ever was as someone he could kiss, and date, and tell all his thoughts. 

“You’re in your head. You’re not _listening_ ,” Pauline shook his shoulder, and he shrugged her off, soft smile quickly followed by a groan of frustration. 

“I’ve known him for a week. I shouldn’t like him this much.”

Pauline shrugged. “He’s handsome. And sarcastic. And charming even when he teases you. It’s not your fault. Plus, he likes you.” She grinned as Timmy tried to bat her away. “I’m serious, Tim. He was so careful with you while you slept. Brushed your hair out of your face when he laid you down to help with dinner. It was fucking mindless. If you weren’t being so daft right now I’d tell you how it made me want to throw up, it was so sweet.” She pulled herself off the bed. “Do with that what you will, but please keep inviting him to dinner, I need to know he is being fed something other than take out.” With that she walked out of his room and closed the door.

Timmy wanted to scream, but instead he collapsed onto his pillows, rubbing his cheek on the soft fabric over and over and kicking his legs. Brushed his hair back? That had to be an exaggeration. Laid him down? He imagined his pillow was Armie’s warm bicep again, nuzzled it and groaned, remembering the feeling of their bodies being so close. It was exactly how he imagined a football player would feel; a hard line of a body pressed to his side. Armie felt...strong? Sturdy maybe? God, he didn’t know, he didn’t know what he was feeling, or he definitely did, but he didn’t want to admit it was _that_.

He still hooked one leg over the pillow like it was Armie’s muscled torso, because it was exciting as much as it was wrong, to think of him this way, but it felt like a revelation more than anything else right now. Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he a million times before?

Timmy stopped, sighing, pushing his top half off the bed and locking his elbows. He shouldn’t do this. He knows he shouldn't do this. The idea of it though, the idea of it made his heart thump in his chest, the fact that he could imagine _anything_ right now. His fists clenched as he deliberated, his thigh still over the pillow, and then his head jerked back to the door, making the decision, jumping off the bed to run and lock it. He was jittery as he twisted the nob as quietly as he could, making sure it wasn’t budging. He wiped his palms off on his jeans. His _jeans_. He pulled them off, kicking them onto the floor. 

When Timmy got back on the bed everything felt more concentrated, more exposed. He gingerly rolled his leg over his pillow again, and this was ridiculous, he knew it was, but he wasn’t going to stop. Instead he wrapped his arms around it, smothered his face into it until he sunk in, and let the tiniest part of himself begin to fantasize. He started off as innocent as possible, just Armie in his blue tshirt, matching his eyes. Then, Armie without the tshirt on, with the lean stomach his clothes only hinted at, but his _arms_. Timmy knew exactly what his arms looked like.

Breathing, he rocked cautiously, rubbing up against it as he lay on his side. It felt better than any other time he’s done this, because this was _Armie_. He knew how Armie would smell and sound like if he were here, knew how Armie’s skin felt on his face, knew what Armie looked like _on top of him,_ whispering in his ear about stupid mushrooms. 

Timmy put a hand between himself and the pillow, thought about kissing Armie, chest to chest, and it thrilled him. Armie’s hands would be strong all over him, on his ribs, on his hips, grabbing his ass as they made out on the couch, like boyfriends would do. He’d turn around to Armie backing him up against his locker in the hallway, kissing him hello, copping a feel because he wanted Timmy, he always wanted Timmy.

He was swimming in his own head, indulging in the way it would look if they walked around school, Armie’s arm around him, no, Armie’s hand in his back pocket. _Fuck_. He rubbed himself faster, groaning into his pillow, trying to be quiet but enjoying this new fantasy too much. All of his pent up frustration was freeing itself and making him feel so good instead. Such a good idea. Such a good idea. _Such a good idea._

He came, twitching into his pillow, daring to whisper _Armie_ right at the height of it, and it put him in more of a frenzy, for once feeling in control of this secret he had. He was giggling with no sound, just hyper and sensitive. As his breath evened, he swept his hand through his hair, rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, grinning, playing with the skin on his chest. Briefly, he recalled Armie calling himself a body pillow that day, and it sent him in another fit of giddy laughter. He really shouldn’t have done that, he thought; still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short but very necessary, don't you think?


	12. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: the play is next thursday
> 
> another disclaimer: we got some lengthy paragraphs in here. its peech time what do you expect

The desks were already arranged in a large circle when Armie got to class, but Timmy wasn’t there, so he didn’t know where to sit. He picked a spot on the far end of the room that had two empty seats on either side. He bounced his leg, scrolled through his phone and looked up absentmindedly when he saw movement by the door, frowning every time it wasn’t Timmy walking in.

He frowned even harder when Timmy finally rushed in and didn’t come to sit next to him, didn’t even look up as he sat down in the closest seat to the door on the other side of the room. 

To: Timmy

< Timmy >

< youre sitting all the way over there >

< why >

He watched the whole thing play out on Timmy’s face – his phone buzzing, his brows scrunching, then his eyes going wide as he searched for Armie in the room. Armie waved a hand at him pointedly and gestured to the last empty seat next to him. But as soon as Timmy started to nod and pick his backpack up off the ground, Mr. Guadagnino walked into the circle, smiled at Armie with a notebook tucked under his arm and _sat_ in the _seat_.

“Hello, Mr. Hammer,” he said, putting down a thermos next to his feet. 

“Hi,” Armie said, smiling the best he could before darting towards Timmy accusingly. He had sunk back into his seat, looking guilty, and was grinding his jaw side to side as he stared back.

“Would you be willing to start us off with the first peech today?” The class was still chattering amicably around them.

“Uh...no.” Armie looked at him, probably wide eyed. Mr. Guadagnino raised his eyebrows amusedly. Armie sat up straighter in his seat. “I mean, I’ll do it, whatever, I just don’t think I’m going to do it the way you want me to.”

Mr. Guadagnino shook his head. “Don’t think of it as what ‘I want’, just tell a story about yourself that feels genuine to you. These aren’t supposed to be a burden.”

Armie nodded silently. 

“How about I let a few others go first and I come back to you soon.” Mr. Guadagnino suggested offhandedly, running his fingers down the attendance list. _Uh, fuck yes_.

“I would like that very much.” Armie nodded again.

The class was shushed to attention. “As you can see we will do another peech today. Do we have any volunteers to go first?” Everyone remained silent. “Timothée?”

Timmy looked up at the sound of his name and nodded intently. Armie tried to hide his smile, crossing his eyes when Timmy glanced at him to make him laugh.

“Today the topic will be fond childhood memories.”

“Oh man, uh...” Timmy scrunched his nose, brought his finger to his lip as he pondered. “You know I really liked Halloween as a kid.” He decided, clutching onto his elbow. “I would always get so excited, you know, the night before Halloween so I could wear my costume to school because I always looked the _best_.” He shook is head and laughed, “No I’m just kidding. But my mom would make all my costumes every year so I was really proud to wear them.” 

Armie noticed that Timmy’s normal fidgeting was actually helping him in the speech, allowing him to emphasize his words with large hand gestures. He looked down at the ground for most of it, but it didn’t make him seem less engaged, if anything it showed how much he was thinking about what he was going to say. 

He smiled at the way Timmy responded to everyone in class, getting more excited when they did and laughing when they laughed. His speech didn’t tick off all the things that a speech consisted of in Armie’s head, (stiff, formal, calculated, maybe), but it worked somehow. 

“I honestly have the best mom ever.” He laughed, after describing all of the weird costumes he’s made her create (Armie gave Timmy a look when he mentioned Yugi-oh, which Timmy definitely caught). “And I still love Halloween. I don’t know if everyone’s familiar, but all the Spiderman guys on broadway are getting injured right now, so I’m gonna dress up in a spiderman costume and some _crutches_ , and I’m gonna be spiderman on broadway. Incredibly nerdy, incredibly nerdy I know, but I guess it goes to show how formative my memories were for me.”

Armie joined in the class’s applause, which Timmy immediately shied away from. It was crazy, for how much Armie heard about his acting reputation Timmy was not the most comfortable getting praise. He zoned out after that, not pretending that he wasn’t only interested in what Timmy had to say anymore. Plus, he liked trying to get Timmy’s attention from across the room, going so far as toeing off one of his converse all stars (which he really didn’t have to do, Timmy was already looking at him) and leaving it on the floor. He liked the way Timmy would scrunch his eyebrows and shake his head, his laughter showing through his initial confusion and mouthing of _What the fuck are you doing?_ Armie was slouching in his seat, biting on one knuckle to keep him from laughing out loud when Mr. Guadagnino told him it was his turn.

“Yeah, okay, um.” He leaned forward and clasped his fingers together. “My best memory as a kid was when my mom let me dye my hair blue when I was like, 8 or 9.” The class began to murmur amusedly, he saw Nick in the corner holding back a laugh, but he was mostly watching Timmy, who was smiling down at his fingers as he fiddled with them. This story was honestly pretty embarrassing, and not in the way that still made him seem kind of cool by the end of it. If he only told it to Timmy, it didn’t seem as uncomfortable to say.

“Yeah it was _incredibly terrible_ , I don’t know why my mom let me do it. I don’t even remember what was going on in my head when I came up with that sh – when I came up with that, but my mom took me to get it bleached and everything, and the lady styled it so it was all spiked up with gel. I hated it after maybe 3 hours, and I begged my mom to change it back, but she wouldn’t let me. I searched the internet for ways to get it out and ended up dunking my hair in our pool for the chlorine.”

Everyone was laughing then, even Armie, as he ran his fingers through his own hair almost preciously, the memory taking him back to how desperate he felt to get that stupid blue dye out. He looked to Mr. Guadagnino beside him.

“I don’t know what else I should say,” He whispered. Mr. Guadagnino looked pleased and nodded, talking loud enough for the class.

“And how does that resonate as a good memory for you, Mr. Hammer.” It was a helpful question, but also began another round of laughter, because it _was_ ridiculous, Armie realized, to choose this as his best memory.

“Right, right. Well I know the result didn’t work out very well, but it’s still my favorite memory because I was allowed to dye my hair in the first place, I guess? It’s crazy that my mom let me make that terrible decision on my own and let me see it through. I don’t know, I guess I like that I was able to make the mistake even though it ended up costing me.”

By the end of his explanation he was only looking at Timmy, who had both fists stacked on each other on the table and his chin resting on top, whose lips were pressed together firmly as he looked back at him. 

“Great.” Mr. Guadagnino said quietly, making Armie turn towards him and give him a tight lipped smile. The class applauded, and Timmy sat back up in his seat. “Whose next?”

\--

Mr. Guadagnino stopped him before he left class. 

“Nice speech today Mr. Hammer.” He called out, picking up his things to move back to his desk. Armie turned around, the fact he called it a _speech_ not going past him.

“It was good?” He asked, close to the door, the last few people in class shuffling to get around him. Mr. Guadagnino pondered the question.

“How did you feel telling it?” He answered. 

Armie shrugged. “I didn’t even think about it.”

He immediately wanted to slam his head on the table, because that sounded _bad_ , reckless, and teachers didn’t want to know how much you weren’t thinking (even though if Armie had thought about it more, he probably wouldn’t have said what he did). But Mr. Guadagnino seemed to get it, shaking his head and almost _giggling_ , if Armie didn’t think it was weird to classify a teacher as giggling.

“I understand. It worked well.”

“Cool.” Armie said, half a smile. He understood too, what Mr. Guadagnino meant now when he said the peeches weren’t supposed to be a burden. It finally felt like maybe he could pass this fucking class. He turned around, walking away before stopping right in the door. “Can I call you Mr. G?” 

Mr. Guadagnino’s smile lingered as he nodded, crossing his arms. “Yes. I like that.”

“Cool.” Armie repeated, and lifted his hand in a sort-of wave. “Thanks Mr. G.” He called out over his shoulder.

He looked down the hallways on either end but Timmy was long gone. Maybe he was at his locker.

“Nick, I’m gonna go find Timmy.” He declared. Nick was leaning against the opposite wall scrolling on his phone, and looked up at Armie lazily.

“We’ve got Stats, bro.”

“I know dude, but Mr. Guadagnino just talked to me without tearing me a new asshole and I feel like Timmy should know about this.” He was practically dancing in the hallway, no, _definitely_ dancing in the hallway, pumping his fists then pulling Nick with an imaginary rope. Nick rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a fucking dork, and I’m annoyed the whole school doesn’t see that.” He said, bumping past Armie with his shoulder. “I think I saw him walking this way.”

Armie was right, Timmy was still at his locker when he and Nick found him. When he got there, he grabbed Timmy from behind and swung him around in a complete circle. 

“Oh my g –” Timmy’s words cut off because Armie’s arms were squeezing his stomach too tight, and he stumbled sideways when Armie finally put him down, laughing and putting his hair back into place. “Armie, what are you –”

“Mr. G totally liked my peech today, Tim. And I call him Mr. G now, we’re on that level.” He said smugly, gesturing with his hand.

“You did not call him Mr. G, Armie,” Timmy laughed, scrunching his nose and shaking his head at him.

“You’re just jealous that _I’m_ the new prodigy and I’m gonna get cast instead of you.” Armie dismissed, his hand on his chest. Timmy nodded and shrugged. 

“You self-proclaimed me as a prodigy though, so I’m happy to give my title away.” He took off an imaginary crown and reached up to put it on Armie’s head. 

“Oh good, you’re both dorks.” He heard Nick say over his shoulder. Armie turned around, wrapping an arm around Timmy and narrowing his eyes.

“If you keep talking to my boy Timmy like that Niki, I’m not letting you sit by me at lunch anymore.” Nick met his stare easily.

“Oh yeah? Have fun getting Ashton to talk in anything other than Anchorman quotes, then.” 

Armie groaned. “Is he on a Ferrell kick again?”

“When is he not?” A very good point.

“ _Fine,_ ” Armie sagged in defeat. “You’re back in.” Nick gave him a look that meant he already knew that. “Timmy, I’m so sorry for making you and Saoirse sit with Nick at the game, truly.” 

“Timmy won’t be, when I show him all the pictures I have of you with your blue hair,” Nick chimed in, smiling teasingly.

“I am very ready to see those,” Timmy agreed, looking up at Armie with same grin. Armie tried to shoot him a look, but he didn’t actually care if Nick showed them to him, if anything he’d want to be there too to see Timmy’s reaction.

“We are now sufficiently late to class,” Nick said, leaning forward and holding out his hand to shake. “Timmy, nice to see you, such a big fan.” Timmy laughed and held his hand out limply, shaking his head.

“Don’t do that man, don’t do that.”

Armie smiled between the both of them and squeezed Timmy’s shoulder before pulling away. “See you after practice. You wanna work on the project at your house while I’m still feeling good about myself?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve already been given explicit instructions to make you stay for dinner again.” Timmy nodded quickly.

“ _Hell_ yes. I’m down.” He waved quickly, already walking the other way. The halls were completely empty as they turned the corner, the only sound coming from their shoes against the linoleum. For a moment, Armie was in his head, glad to have something to look forward to after practice now. He checked his phone, and they were _15 minutes_ late already. He turned to Nick.

“We’re not actually still going to Stats right?”

“Oh fuck no, we’re smoking weed.”

“Thank _god_.”

\--

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this when you have a game in like, two days,” Nick frowned, still holding the joint to his lips and flicking the lighter until it sparked. 

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this when I have practice in two hours and we’re doing box drills in full pads,” Armie added, taking it from him as he was blowing out smoke.

The identical thought hung between them: This was good though. Being high was so fucking good.

Nick tilted his head back, his hands supporting him on the rock wall as Armie kicked his legs and took another hit. 

“Isn’t this one the record breaker?”

Armie nodded, still holding the smoke in his lungs. “It’s just the school record though.” He puffed. “And it’s only if we win.”

“You’re gonna win,” Nick said like it was obvious.

“Oh yeah? How do you know that?” Armie smiled, playing along.

“You’re not gonna let Timmy watch you lose at his first football game.”

Armie laughed and shook his head. "He's so cool." He said, bringing the joint to his lips. “I feel like he’s secretly the coolest person at this school.” Nick snatched the joint away before he could exhale, almost pushing him off the wall.

“You’re always such a fucking hog.” He huffed. Armie couldn’t even defend himself, too busy coughing up the smoke that went down the wrong way.

“You think he’s okay, right?” He asked, when his throat started feeling a little less like sandpaper.

“Of course.” Nick nodded. “I mean I don’t know him that well, but you seem good. You’re like, more chill.”

“I don’t know how I could have gotten chiller than this,” Armie said, gesturing to his current state.

“I mean yeah, you’re chill all the time, but you’re not _chill_ , you’re not ‘tell my blue hair story in class’ chill.”

“Okay, I get that.” Armie nodded, taking back the joint. “I don’t know, Timmy is always just, _so himself_ , and it makes me think, holy fuck, maybe it is that easy.”

“Yes dude, it’s like... you’re actually being... who you show everyone you’re being.” Nick decided, looking up at the sky thoughtfully. Armie blew out smoke, giving him a funny look.

“Yeah I’m way too high for that sentence,” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that didn’t make sense,” Nick admitted. “But you’re my best friend.” He said, patting Armie on the back.

“Dude, you’re my best friend.” Armie said, kind of touched even though he already knew that. He didn’t know what that made Timmy. Maybe he was in a different category all together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would tell you i know when the next chapter is coming out but aren't you tired of my fibs


	13. Thursday Night

“Stop _doing_ that.”

Saoirse scratched her nails between Timmy’s shoulder blades, beckoning him up, so he un-hunched, stopped rubbing at the bone of his ankle under his boot and grasped his script in both hands.

“Sorry.” He whispered back, taking a deep breath. Once it hit 7 o’clock all he could think about was each minute he was late to meeting Armie, and how he didn’t want Armie to have to wait for him when Armie was the one doing him a favor. “I’m just going to text him.”

Timmy pulled his phone out of his front pocket, ducked his head - fruitless seeing as he was sitting on the very front of the stage - and typed, _SORRY we’re running late. Be right there!_ It made him feel a little better; made him curl his script around the tip of his chin and nod at Luca like he was actually listening, even though his instructions didn’t pertain to him specifically.

He felt like he’d been flighty all day was the thing, so now on top of that he was late to driving home, and it just felt like too much trouble. He had it built up in his head that Armie probably thought he was acting weird.

(And he _definitely_ was, because he didn’t know how to show up to class and look at Armie without _I called your name out while I masturbated_ completely blatant on his face. So then he didn’t sit next to him, and then he tried to, and then he looked at him like he was the only person in the damn room as he spoke, which made him realize that sitting next to him would have been better because at least he didn’t have a perfect view of Armie’s leg jiggling slightly, long and comfortable, or his dimple digging into his cheek as he told maybe the most adorable story ever.) 

He talked to Saoirse during free period, minutes after Armie spun him around the hall.

“Three. Maybe four. But Nick was definitely there.”

“Which is the most important.” Saoirse finished for him. He rolled his eyes, went back to drawing an uneven spider web in the corner of his notebook page. “You _have_ to agree that it’s significant his best friend comes with him. He’s not trying to hide you.”

“Ew. Don’t say things like that.” He was laughing, but with his nose scrunched up and sour. Saoirse put her hands up defensively, but he interrupted her protests. “And you’re saying this with the assumption that he’s a douche bag, and he’s not, so stop it.” 

The more he thought about all the people who probably _did_ assume Armie was a douche bag just because of his status the madder he got, because spend one day, one _class period_ with him and it was obvious that he wasn’t. Which was not bias at all, even if the way Armie found him after class _did_ flood Timmy with scenarios of Armie being his boyfriend, who was excited to see him, who brought him to meet his friends so they could all hang out at the same time.

“Do you think he would have told Nick, though? If he did?” Saoirse asked, leaning forward to rest her chin on back of her stacked palms. 

“I doubt it,” Timmy said, shaking his head. He didn’t even tell Saoirse that he liked both, she just sort of knew – flipped between different pronouns, (when you get a girlfriend, or _boyfriend_ ) making Timmy stumble over his words til she rolled her eyes (it doesn’t matter, I mean, _you matter_ , either way, but it doesn’t _matter_ ). 

She still asked if she could be his first kiss, sitting on the carpeted floor of her bedroom his freshman year, her sophomore, trying to run through lines between her usual twenty questions. He’d nodded quickly, not knowing what to do with his hands but leaning forward and closing his eyes, and he remembered feeling safe when their lips touched, nipped softly and came apart, and they smiled at each other, her hand on his cheek going to tug on a curl.

“Yeah, you won’t have a problem,” she decided, kissing his cheek and laughing when he made an indignant noise, his fingers still brushing his lips. 

It wasn’t something you just said as soon as you felt it, was what he meant, especially not in high school, where it felt like everyone was evaluating you, both individually and as a whole – who you hung out with, where you belonged, how everything made you look.

He hadn’t realized he’d been zoning out until the click of the auditorium doors echoed into the room and he looked up, saw Armie sliding into the back of the audience and waving noticeably at him, in a white v-neck and black gym shorts that went to mid thigh, pulling _wet hair_ off his forehead as he put his feet up on the chair diagonal of him. It took Timmy a second to give a subtle wave back, his lips rolled between his teeth to hide _just_ how delighted he was to see Armie’s gym bag in the same aisle people had strewn their backpacks and stage notes in. 

“He’s _here_?” Saoirse whispered loudly, shaking his leg. 

“I didn’t tell him to!” Timmy said defensively, smiling. Saoirse shook her head.

“You’re toast.”

He was, because at least half the people here were staring now, between him and Armie, trying to piece things together, whispering _whatever_ they were whispering. He was the _captain of the football team_ , sitting there like he did that all the time. 

He didn’t hear anything; no “What the fuck,” or, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” but he felt it, watching people clump together in the seats of the audience as he pretended to be preoccupied with the carpeting. Theater kids weren’t fucking subtle and they didn’t want to be. 

Feelings intensified when Luca called everyone on stage for final announcements, all of them joining hands and clapping lazily when Luca shooed them off. He slithered off the front of the stage and away from any people trying to catch his eye, barely waiting for Saoirse to grab her backpack and follow. At the top of the aisle he was almost able to shake the itchy feeling in his skin because Armie was already stood up, grinning, waiting between the double doors. 

“Was that a huddle I just witnessed?” He asked, lifting his duffle to his shoulder.

“You’re like – you’re actually in this theater right now,” is what Timmy’s mouth decided to respond. 

“I think so,” Armie said, squinting thoughtfully.

He felt Saoirse come behind him and steady herself on his shoulder. “Cute shorts,” she said sweetly, making Timmy’s stomach drop in horror.

“Saoirse, _what_ the _actual_ –” He gritted incredulously, trying not to completely flip around and tackle her into the seats. He was stopped by Armie, who put a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, these incredibly pale thighs are my gift to this auditorium.” He laughed.

Armie was looking past the both of them curiously now, and Timmy didn’t have to turn around to know why. “Obviously everyone agrees,” he decided, raising his eyebrows. 

“Nah they’re probably thinking something along the lines of, _he’s hanging out with this guy?_ ” Timmy said, scrunching his face in confusion mockingly, laughing even though Armie wasn’t.

“Well that’s fucking dumb.” 

Armie’s tone was bitter, his expression arrogant, and it was one of the first times Timmy actually _felt_ like he was in the presence of the haughty jock, the TV bully, the untouchable upperclassman. That was where the similarities ended though, seeing as Armie’s only act of defiance was tucking Timmy under his arm securely and looking over his shoulder as they headed towards the exit. Heat rose to Timmy’s cheeks even before Armie added loudly -

“You ready for me to drive you home, Tim?” 

His only focus now was to put one foot in front of the other, try not to worry about scalding Armie’s arm with the blush no doubt coloring the back of his neck. Did the room just explode with chatter or was he being dramatic?

He side-eyed Saoirse, who was looking between them as she pushed open one side of the door, laughing and slightly slack jawed. He hoped his expression was inferring as much _don’t you say a fucking word_ as he thought it was. 

“I think you might have just made Sweet Tea the talk of the town,” she said, ignoring the entire silent order. He hated her. He actually hated her.

“He does that on his own, right?” Armie said, nudging him, and all he could do was chuckle, shake his head at the ground and suck his bottom lip between his teeth.

Yeah, Timmy got attention; he was the youngest lead the schools ever had, he stood in front of audiences in auditoriums and didn’t flinch, but it was never _this_ type of attention. People never stared at him for the way he walked down a hall, cared about who he was talking to. They knew him, but they never _wondered_ about him. This can of worms was something he didn’t think would be opened today.

But also, unrelatedly, this was everything he’d dreamt of.

**From: Saoirse**

< **Timmy what the fuck are you gonna do** >

He clutched at his phone, curling inwards to keep Armie from seeing it as they walked through the parking lot. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna get over seeing Mr. G in a t-shirt.” Armie said, opening his door then going around to the driver’s side. “Next you’re gonna tell me he eats oreos and has a couch he found at Target.”

< **I know ur gonna ignore me but i think i speak for everyone in that THEATER when I say you need to make a move** >

What the fuck was she talking about? Was he supposed to pretend to stretch and put his arm around Armie’s shoulder? Show up to his door with flowers and chocolates? How could Saoirse be so naïve?

“Timothée,” Armie sing-songed.

Timmy looked up, face warming. 

“Sorry. He has at least two rugs that I’ve also seen at Target, but I don’t know about a couch.”

Armie smiled, his eyes going wide.

“Why have you been to his house before?” 

< **not a declaration of love** >   
< **but something!!!! just to see how he reacts** >

He held back a sigh, dropped the phone into his lap and turned, shrugging sheepishly. 

“Wrap parties. He hosts one every semester.”

“That is... so fucking weird.” Armie said, shaking his head as he pulled out of the lot. Timmy reached to turn on the radio and leaned back in his seat.

“What? I thought you two were best friends now?” Timmy said, pulling one foot up onto the leather seat, resting his chin on his knee.

Watching Armie get this excited about class left a warm feeling in his chest. He immediately began talking quickly, quicker than Timmy would have guessed he’d talk if he had just met him. Armie was extremely self effacing despite the face he was engaging as hell, talking with his whole face, with all his fingers. Timmy smiled, following Armie’s hands as they took turns holding the steering wheel in place. 

“Yeah,” He said, looking up to see Armie’s eyes on him expectantly. “Yes, um. Wait. Can you say that one more time?”

“I was saying that I couldn’t have done it without you, but now I wanna take it back.”

Armie was looking at him flippantly, clicking off his seat belt and – they were at his house already. They were parked on his curb.

“Wait, no,” Timmy said, catching up only in time to watch Armie jump out of the car. “Wait, why?” He asked, following quickly.

“No, I’m not telling you anymore.” Armie shouted behind him, walking up Timmy’s front steps with his hands in his pockets. 

“Armie!” Timmy laughed.

Never did he think he would see Armie Hammer standing on his front porch, his arms crossed, looking at him with a poorly hidden smile. 

So he charged, taking the few steps two at a time and pouncing onto Armie’s back, finally making him break and grasp the wrists now locked around his neck with a laugh.

“Fucking tell me,” Timmy gritted, mid jump.

“Jesus, okay Mr. Linebacker.” Armie panted, letting go of Timmy’s arms to grab the backs of his knees, shifting him up with a bounce. Timmy let out a surprised noise and clung tighter.

“Seriously, all I said was I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re the only person I feel comfortable saying anything to, honestly.”

“You have Nick,” Timmy frowned, chin hooked on Armie’s shoulder. He squirmed until Armie let him down to face him.

“Nah, Nick knows me already. I don’t have to tell him anything. I want to tell you.” Armie followed that earth crushing confession with two fingers to Timmy’s chest, pushing him lightly, maybe finally realizing his words needed diluting. 

“Hm,” Timmy let out a considering hum, jutting out his lower lip nonchalantly before breaking out into a laugh, swatting away Armie’s attempts a poking his ribs. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Timmy rushed out, curling in on himself and catching his breath. He looked at Armie, letting out a breath and fisting his hair. “Listen, you don’t even –” 

What if he just said it? _I’m more than comfortable with you. I like you. You might be the best person I’ve ever met._

The porch light turned on. Pauline opened the front door.

“Why are _you two_ so late tonight?” She said, eyebrows raised. Timmy was still squinting.

“Rehearsals ran late Pauline.” 

He squeezed by her as Armie said his hellos, pulled out his phone and found one more message light up the screen.

< **this is too excruciating to watch. pls consider. for my sake!!!!** >

His mind was blank by this point, no longer knowing the right thing to do. It could at least wait til after dinner.

\--

“Ughhhh.”

He watched Armie flop heavily onto his unmade bed once they carried themselves up the stairs, too full to make coherent noises anymore.

“What was that called again?” Armie asked, lifting his head off the mattress. 

“Shepard’s pie,” Timmy chuckled, falling down next to him, their heads making an arrow towards his desk lamp.

“Shepard’s pieeee,” Armie drew out dazedly, hand on his stomach.

They were alone and together again, but this time it made the air fizz.

“You okay?” Armie asked, his head turning to him. Timmy could only glance and look away, they were so close.

“Yeah, sorry.” 

God, he’d been so weird the whole fucking day. How could Armie still want to be here? He couldn’t help but be in his own head through dinner, made easier by his family’s constant intrigue with Armie. He had answered the standard adult-to-high-schooler questions, actually looked interested in Pauline’s college application advice, which Timmy honestly forgot was a thing. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Armie frowned, pinky nail between his front teeth. “But I know I’ve been hanging around a lot this week, and if it’s too much – “

“Stop, stop, stop; No.” Timmy said, shaking his head. Literally the opposite of what he wanted. “Seriously.” He stared up that the ceiling. “That’ll never be it.”

“Then what _is_ it?” Armie sat up, leaning back on one hand.

Timmy looked up at him, pursed his lips so his mouth was as small as he could make it, and shrugged. Armie glanced away pensively, eyes locking on the way one of Timmy’s thumb was rubbing circles on the other’s knuckle.

“Maybe,” He started with a smirk. “You’re nervous for my interview.” 

“Yeah,” Timmy smiled. “I think that’s it.”

“Well.” Armie rearranged himself closer to the foot of the bed, sat up straighter, bent one leg under the other. “I can go easy on you.” Timmy stayed horizontal, only turning toward him quickly before settling straight ahead again.

“Okay, shoot.”

“What is... your favorite color?”

“Green,” Timmy smiled. “Or orange.”

“Those are _very_ different colors from each other.” Armie said, eyebrows raised.

“They have their qualities,” Timmy defended.

“Okay, okay. Favorite place?”

“Fuck, that’s hard.” Timmy frowned. “Somewhere with my family? I don’t know.” Armie nodded. “Can I say a place I’ve never been before?” 

“Sure,” Armie smiled.

“I like the _idea_ of New York, I think. Yeah.” Timmy nodded.

“I’ve been there once, actually.” Armie said after a pause.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Yeah my parents took me and my brother for the Thanksgiving day parade.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Right. Weird. He graduated before you got there. Viktor, uh – he’s in college.”

“But the buildings,” Timmy realized.

“What?”

Was it weird that he remembered this? “No, you know, you’d just said before you didn’t like tall buildings.”

“I – yeah, actually. Wow. God.” Armie put his head in his hands, started rubbing his eyes. Timmy frowned, slightly alarmed before he realized Armie was laughing. “It was actually the worst.” 

“Oh no,” Timmy laughed sympathetically.

“And the parade balloons?” Armie heaved. “Might as well have been buildings with eyes.”

“Oh fuck, I didn’t even think of that,” Timmy said, throwing his arm over his eyes. They were laughing almost hysterically now, Armie falling back beside him.

“It was literally a parade of my fears.” They laughed harder, rolling on the mattress.

“Why is that funny?” Timmy said, his hand on his chest.

“Because you remembered that quicker than my parents did.” 

What do you say to that. What do you say to that?

“No, well, I mean you _just_ said that last week or something.”

“No, I honestly think it’s funny. I can laugh at it now, but I was seriously so miserable. And angry. Which came off as ungrateful. It was a whole thing. But this is just funny.”

It _sounded_ miserable. He was almost sorry he brought it up, didn’t like the way Armie was playing it off as if it wasn’t a valid thing to be hurt about. 

“Sorry. That was a very big tangent.” Armie said when Timmy stayed silent, sitting back up. “Favorite movie?”

“Uhhh. The Dark Knight.”

“Food?”

“Mm. Too many,” Timmy said, scrunching his nose.

“Family member?” 

“You _cannot_ ask me that,” Timmy laughed, pushing his knee. “Is your whole speech just gonna be a list of my favorite things?”

“Fine,” Armie rolled his eyes then, but looked at him warmly. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“An actor.” Timmy said, letting out a breath.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Fuck yes.” They both laughed. “No, I mean, I know nothings going to be a given, and to be fiscally stable in the business is mostly unheard of, but,” Timmy shrugged. “It’s my dream.”

“What do you want to be if it doesn’t work out?’ Armie whispered.

Timmy nodded thoughtfully, turning his head towards him. “An actor out of a job,” He smiled.

“Fuck.” Armie breathed. “That’s confidence.”

“It’s not, though,” Timmy shook his head dramatically, grinning. “You know I’m not, like, “confident” or whatever, in the general sense.” He gestured quotes with his fingers. “But I’m ready to be really shitty, and not get jobs I’ve spent months auditioning for, and get back up and do it all over again. I’m just not gonna settle for anything less than what I want.”

Armie nodded, his lips rolled between his teeth. “I respect that. A lot.”

“Thanks.” Timmy said, shy from Armie’s intense stare. “What else?”

“Uh,” Armie blew out a thoughtful breath, looking around the room. “Who are your friends, like your best friends.” 

“Probably Saoirse.” Timmy said. “Well, definitely Saoirse. I don’t talk to anyone else as consistently.”

“No one in that auditorium?”

“No, I mean,” Timmy licked his lips. “No one in theater really likes me that much.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I’m serious! They can be pretty resentful, which I totally get, I mean a senior usually plays the lead role and I ended up taking it last year, then again this year.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.”

“It’s competitive.” Timmy nodded. “And they can be really nice at times too, but Saoirse is definitely my best friend.”

“And,” Armie started, tracing a pattern on his bed sheets. “That’s never turned into something?”

Timmy groaned, automatically blushing, covering his face with both hands. “You’ve asked me that before.”

“I honestly forgot I did,” Armie chuckled, hands up in defense. Timmy’s heart started to pound, his stomach in knots because this was too close to dangerous territory.

“No, me and Saoirse were never together. She was my first kiss though.” He knew why he added that on at the end, knew a small part of him wanted Armie to imagine him as sought after.

“Oh, woah,” Armie’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? That wasn’t weird?”

“Oddly, no,” Timmy shook his head, just as surprised. “Almost normal. And I know that makes zero sense.”

“Absolutely none,” Armie agreed.

“Saoirse and I,” Timmy sighed, sitting up and running his hand through his hair. “We definitely fit well. And maybe it will happen in the future.” He wiped his hands on his jeans, fisting the loose fabric by his knees. 

_do something_

_just to see how he reacts_

“But I also... like different types of people, different than Saoirse.” Timmy couldn’t look at him, couldn’t move a muscle, his whole body fighting against what he was trying to say. Armie could leave, could never speak to him again, could jump out of his seat in disgust. It was all possible. What tiny sliver of hope did he have that made him sit stiller than he has all night? His voice was small when Armie finally coaxed.

“Like who?”

“Like, boys.”


	14. Thursday Night

“You like boys?”

Timmy was looking at him carefully, didn’t respond, just kept looking at him.

“Like, which boys?”

He frowned. “Huh?”

Armie squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry – that was - I don’t even know what that means.” The question had come out much more accusing than he’d meant, he saw Timmy flinch.

But shouldn’t he be allowed to accuse? Hadn’t Timmy just poured ice cold water on every picture Armie had of him in his head?

“So you’re...”

“I’m not... anything.” Timmy shook his head quickly, pulling at the armpit of his sweater.

“You’re obviously something.” Armie snapped.

He heard how mad he sounded. Was he mad? No, just confused. He stopped himself from saying more, ran his hand over his mouth, tired his fingers over his bottom lip.

His first thought was why he wasn’t told sooner. This seemed like an important thing for him to know. Timmy had hidden this from him, letting him go around thinking...thinking what exactly?

“I don’t really know what to say.”

Timmy nodded, looking down at his fingers. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Why are _you_ saying sorry?” Armie frowned. “I’m the one being fucking weird. I just didn’t know, you know?”

“Yeah,” Timmy sniffed. His curls had been covering his face, a barrier between them, but now he was rubbing his nose, and Armie’s stomach sank.

“Hey, are you okay?” He ducked his head, trying to get Timmy to look at him. Timmy sat up, rubbing his eyes and sucking in a breath.

“Yeah, no I’m fine, sorry. _Fuck_ , sorry. You’re just like one of the only people I’ve told and I don’t think it’s going well.” He laughed miserably.

“I am?” Armie asked, his voice small.

He was so busy thinking about how this affected him, but Timmy was fucking _terrified_. Timmy was trusting him, had no reason not to, up to this point. They were _friends_. He was still one of the only people Armie wanted to be around.

The way Timmy was curling in on himself reminded him of the first time they met, when Elizabeth had cut him off and all the excitement had left his eyes. Armie had jumped to his defense so quickly, some kid he’d known for 5 minutes. He felt the same urge now, to make sure Timmy was okay before processing anything further. Whatever hold Timmy had on him didn’t seem to have let up even a little.

“Fuck, Timmy,” Armie sighed, scooting closer. “I’m just an idiot. Don’t fucking listen to me.” He nudged their shoulders together, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed. Timmy’s socked foot was matting down the shag rug beneath them.

“Pauline knows. And Sersh. I don’t want you to think – I’m not gonna –”

“No - seriously, stop,” Armie interrupted. Timmy sagged, bit his lip. “I don’t think anything. I think you’re still Timmy. I’m probably going to be a dumbass about 400 more times, but just like, tell me to fuck off. Or kick me in the nuts.”

Timmy’s shoulders shook minutely at that, and he tucked his hair behind his ear. Armie put his arm around him, squeezed, just to prove to him nothing was going to change. He felt Timmy rest his temple on his shoulder for just a second in return.

“What do you wanna do?” Armie said, looking down at him. “Let’s do something.” He didn’t want him to look like this.

“Not school,” Timmy laughed breathily.

“Yeah, _fuck_ school,” He agreed. “Come on.”

He stood up and Timmy frowned. “Where?”

“We need a study break.”

He pulled his bag up from the desk chair and swung it over his shoulder. When he turned back to Timmy, he was sitting in the same spot, wiping his palms on his thighs. His eyes were still droopy. His nose was still red.

“Um, I could also just go, if you need space.” Armie winced, scratching his neck. “I just thought... I mean, when _I_ don’t want to think about something,” He stopped himself, palm wagging. “ _Not_ that I’m saying you shouldn’t think about it.” His eyes were wide, but Timmy’s were amused, watching him trying to navigate through this sentence. “Fuck,” Armie chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “I just don’t want you to be sad anymore, okay?”

Timmy eyed him carefully for a second, then took a deep breath, pushing himself up. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Armie smiled.

“ _Okay_ already,” Timmy rolled his eyes. “Take me to wherever it is you were going to take me.”

When they went downstairs, Pauline was on the couch.

“Pauline, can you tell your mom that Timmy and I went to get ice cream?” Armie whispered dramatically, cupping his hands to his mouth. Pauline looked up, glanced at Timmy, and frowned; but Timmy must have given her some confirming nod because she shooed them without question, her _have fun!_ following them out the door.

“Are we actually going to get ice cream?” Timmy asked, buckling his seatbelt.

“Ummmm, no.” Armie admitted, turning the key. “I mean, we could,” he shrugged. “Do you want to?”

“Armie...” Timmy sighed, getting that tired look in his eyes again.

“Trust me,” Armie insisted. “It’ll be fun.”

\--

When they parked, Timmy’s feet thumped unceremoniously onto the car floor from where he was balancing his knees on the dash. “Is this when I get to kick you in the nuts?”

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Armie scoffed.

“Armie, we’re at _school_ , there aren’t very many places to choose from.”

Armie groaned, tipped his head back on his seat. “Will you just get out of the car?”

Timmy made a show of rolling his eyes all the way around and unbuckled, pulling the handle of the door.

The wind had picked up since they were there that evening, but Armie led them down the sidewalk and toward the stadium lights ahead. It was pretty boastful for the school to leave them on all night long, if you asked him.

When they got to the field, Armie pushed at the gate but it wouldn’t budge. He cursed, took two fistfuls of the chain-link fence and shook, but it was useless. When he looked back at Timmy, his hands were in his pockets and his breath was a little heavy from trying to keep up with his pace.

“So, we’re gonna have to jump this fence.”

“What?” Timmy panted.

“But you won’t get in trouble! I promise.”

“Armie, even if I _wanted_ to climb a fence –”

“I’ll help you! Just – hold on.” He grabbed on to the top bar and pulled himself over in three moves, pivoting once he was sat on the top to swing himself back down. Timmy stared at him blankly.

“Okay look, just put your foot right here,” patting the bar through the links. Timmy followed his instructions, taking a few tries to find the purchases but ultimately getting there until he was on the top of the fence.

“Perfect. Now, jump.”

“Are you kidding?” Timmy asked incredulously.

“No I’m not kidding. Come on, it’ll be like two feet and then I’ll catch you.”

“You want me to jump on top of you,” Timmy deadpanned, not a question.

“Yup.” Armie opened his arms. When Timmy continued to look at him like he was crazy, he frowned. “What? You weigh nothing. I won’t drop you.”

After some silent coercing (both of their eyes getting wider and wider, insisting either way, Armie impatiently beckoning Timmy with his fingers) Timmy finally jumped with a groan. It definitely wasn’t the _most_ pleasant feeling. Their bodies knocked together harshly. Armie scrambled to wrap his arms around Timmy’s torso and Timmy’s chin hit the pressure point in his shoulder.

“ _Terrible_ idea,” Timmy strained, but he was laughing as Armie let him slide down slowly until he reached the ground. Armie smiled at him, his hands still under Timmy’s armpits.

“Okay, maybe not my best.” He laughed. That was the first second Timmy looked like himself so far, so he couldn’t help but get a little giddy. He tugged at Timmy’s wrist to lead him toward the bleachers.

“We’re going up there,” He pointed from the bottom of the stairs. It was the dingy press box, with four windows facing outwards and two speakers at each corner. Timmy looked at it, glanced at him, and shrugged.

“I’m not even going to ask anymore.”

Armie patted his pockets for his keys as Timmy took a breath next to him, unlocking the side door and turning the knob. He flipped on the light switch and took in the small space; the fliers and stats pasted on the walls, the ancient computer, the microphone with it’s long stem. He sat in front of it on one of the rolling chairs, spun it around once and smiling.

“This is...underwhelming,” Timmy said, but he was teasing, lighthearted, sitting down in the other chair and rolling himself into Armie’s side.

He laughed. “I resent that.”

Armie looked out of the wide windows, down at the perfect view of the lit field and sighed. “I don’t know. It’s kind of stupid.” Timmy waited a second, then spoke.

“I don’t think you have a choice in explaining yourself; I mean, I just climbed a fence.”

“ _I know,_ I know.” Armie said lazily. He kind of forgot that he’d have to explain this, that Timmy didn’t just know every part of him, because it felt like it most of the time. Timmy nodded, motioning for him to go on.

“I used to think about yelling in these things all the time.”

He watched Timmy look down at where his hand patted the base of the microphone softly. Timmy tilted his head curiously, small smile on his face. 

“Why?”

Armie looked out at the view of the bleachers. It wasn’t hard to imagine them packed for the usual weekend game. It was the most people that’d be in one place in their town, which was probably why at his angriest, this was where he wanted to go. He’d say all the petty one liners he’d thought of too late; he’d take back all the words put in his mouth by anyone who thought they knew him.

“Is it like…” Timmy continued, scrunching his face thoughtfully. “When people go on rollercoasters, because they’re good places to scream?”

Armie sighed. “No,” He dragged out, meaning it more as a ‘not quite’. He bent the wire stem of the microphone back and forth. “Because I want them to hear me, you know?” Timmy bit his lip and nodded. “Like actually fucking hear what I have to say.” Armie slapped the table for emphasis, startling a laugh out of him.

“Like what?”

“Like…” He felt blindly for the switch and cupped his hands over the microphone.

“ _Timothée Chalamet’s hoodies never match his shoes._ ”

The sound of his voice echoed across the stadium, which had been dead silent before hand. Timmy gasped, covering his mouth. Armie was delighted, throwing his head back with laughter. 

“ _Oh yeah, well, Armie Hammer doesn’t know what a mushroom is,_ ” Timmy countered, leaning over to block his way. Armie reached around him for the mic and made his voice booming and mocking. “ _Tim-o-thée Cha-la-met, the only person who is just completely fine drooling all over your shoulder -_ ”

Timmy protested loudly, his neck turning pink, and wrestled for it back, just covering Armie’s hands that were wrapped around it. 

“ _Armie Hammer?” He said pointedly, “Was smoking weed, okay? Weed. On the first day of school._ ”

“Fucking snitch!” Armie laughed, getting him into a haphazard headlock, microphone forgotten and tipped over on the table. Timmy pulled, tried to pry himself out of Armie’s grip until he let up. His face was completely red when he sat straight up, panting loudly. Armie laughed at him wickedly, so Timmy pushed his shoulder. 

“No fair, you’re huge.”

They caught their breaths for a moment.

“I never thought of you as someone who wasn’t heard though,” Timmy said after a moment. Armie frowned curiously. “I guess you’re popular, so I thought everyone always listened to you.”

“I guess it’s like…” Armie looked down, trying to find the words. “We’re here, right? We’re at the top of the bleachers.” Timmy nodded, craned his neck to see it from Armie’s point of view. “So everyone’s looking at me from up here, and yeah, they’re cheering, but… that doesn’t mean shit.”

It took a second for Timmy to think about this, before he hummed thoughtfully. “I never thought about it like that.”

Armie looked down at his hands, thought about how _Timmy_ the motion was as he clasped and unclasped them, pressed his thumb into his palm. He was rubbing off on him.

“How long have you been thinking about - you know... liking boys?” Armie asked softly, watching Timmy tense up.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” He laughed halfheartedly, scratching his head.

“I know, but I’m...I’m listening.”

When Timmy breathed out, his shoulders relaxed. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and picked at the nail bed of his thumb. 

“Um. I guess I always knew. I was more scared of it before, but...you’ve seen my parents,” He smiled. “I figure it won’t be a big deal. I haven’t told them anything, though.” He sat up, splayed his fingers over his thighs. “I told Pauline last year. Saoirse sort of...guessed. Now you.”

He looked up at Armie then, and Armie gave him a smile, swung his chair around to kick their feet together. Timmy laughed softly, then took a deep breath.

“Listen, I know you cut me off before, but I want you to know this isn’t going to be a problem for you or anything. And we can forget about it, if you’re sorry I told you.”

“Hey,” Armie leaned forward, rested his hand on Timmy’s chair. “I’m not sorry. I don’t think there’s anything you could do that’d make me stop hanging out with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Timmy smiled weakly. Armie rolled his eyes, swung around and picked up the mic, tapping it three times dramatically.

“ _Timothée Chalamet is too likable for his own good, and is kind of stuck with me, forever._ ”

Timmy finally broke into a real smile, shaking his head bashfully. “Not a bad deal.”

Armie laughed, stood up and brought Timmy up with him. “Agreed.”

They locked the front door and took their time going down the stairs back to the fence. Timmy didn’t hesitate to let Armie catch him this time, wrapping his arms around Armie’s neck willingly. They walked the path back toward the parking lot in a comfortable silence.

“So… Saoirse was your first kiss, but have you had your _other_ first kiss?” Armie asked, hands in his pockets, waggling his eyebrows. Timmy groaned, pushed him off the sidewalk.

“I’m not ready to talk to you about this, Armie.” He laughed. Armie put his hands up defensively. “But no. No, I haven’t.” Armie nodded, not knowing what to do with the information.

When he turned out of the lot, Timmy looked at him oddly. 

“You know where my house is, and it’s not this way.”

Armie glanced at him with half a smile, then looked back at the road. “Well we have to get fucking ice cream, don’t we?”

“Are we really?” Timmy said with wide eyes, sitting up straighter.

“Yes, really,” Armie laughed.


	15. Saturday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> game day babie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit i fuckin updated. yikes this took looOng and im sorryyyyy and i have no excuses ok love you bye
> 
> also happy early birthday to Mariana! (@melodysustainin) i do not get my act together and u do not get frustrated with me. you should!

Armie leaned against the lockers, leg bouncing and phone up to his ear.

“Yo, Hammer, you’ve gotta tell coach to take Diekman out til the second half.”

He glanced back to see Robinson with his arms crossed, looking overly mannish for his small stature. 

“Diekman’s got it, Midtown’s offense isn’t usually a problem.”

“You _know_ he’s not ready.” Robinson sighed. “Coach’ll listen to you, man, just -”

“Hammer!”

On the other side of the room, Coach was poking his head out of his office, his desk chair having pushed him into view. Armie tucked his phone under his arm.

“It’ll be fine, Robinson, I’ve been going over it with him, but I’ll keep an eye out.” Armie said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked past. He swiped his shoulder pads from the bench on his way over to the office.

“Need something, Coach?” He asked, putting his weight on the door frame. Coach Riley turned towards him and paused, twirling his pencil in between his fingers, probably taking in the fact Armie wasn’t close to dressed - only a compression shirt on, the foam in his pants not yet stuffed into place.

“How you doing, champ?” A smile broke out on his face, lazy and wry.

Armie shrugged, pulling the pads over his head. “I’m not worried.”

Robinson was right when he said Coach would listen to anything Armie told him. He saved those favors for when he actually needed them though, and seeing that Robinson was a jackass who only wanted upperclassmen on the field during home games, he wasn’t going to waste one. It was true - he wasn’t worried - he didn’t understand why everyone was on his case tonight.

“They’ve got a new DB this season.”

Armie knew that. They’d gone over four different plays to account for this, but he would have to gage the guy’s style before he decided what would work best. They were _prepared_.

“We’re ready for him,” Armie nodded. “Listen, I gotta take a call really quick Coach, you need anything else?” 

Coach Riley shook his head, shooing him out. “Go. Rile up the guys while you’re at it.”

“On it.”

He pushed through the doors of the locker room and his phone rang just in time - a video call from Nick popping up on the screen. Armie accepted it, pushing his hair back with a sigh.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Nick asked, his face comically close to the camera. Armie could see the bright lights of the field on his face.

“Hey,” Armie chuckled. “Everyone get here okay?”

“Yeah, I got here at 6:30, left at 6 so I could get gas, did you know it’s gone up 5 cents since last week?”

“ _Nick_.” Armie pressed, rolling his eyes. “ _Timmy_.”

“Ohhhh, you wanted to know if _Timmy_ got here?” Nick clarified mockingly. He turned his head to the left. “Dude, Ashton, Armie wanted me to tell you he does not give one shit if you got here safely.”

“Fucking rude, for your biggest fan!” Armie heard in the background.

“Can we do this later, dumbasses? I’m kind of crunched for time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nick said under his breath, passing his phone to the right quickly. After some fumbling he was finally given to Timmy, who was wearing a big hoodie in their school colors, the wind whipping his hair back and forth. He was holding the phone far from his face, testing angles for a second before smiling.

“Nice make up.” He said loudly over the crowd.

“Fuck you,” Armie laughed. “Is Nick being nice?” 

Timmy nodded, turning the phone so Armie saw Saoirse leaning into the camera. He waved. 

“Hey, Saoirse, I hope you aren’t bored to death.”

“I’ll probably be the one explaining things to Tim,” She laughed.

“I’m not surprised by that at all.” 

Timmy quickly brought the phone back to himself after that exchange, glaring at both of them, somehow simultaneously.

“Thanks for coming.”

Armie was being genuine, too. He knew Timmy didn’t have to be here, barely _wanted_ to be here, but he was doing it for him. Timmy’s face soon broke into half a smile, and he squinted thoughtfully.

“Seems like just the day before yesterday I was hearing these loudspeakers.”

Armie laughed, his head hitting the wall behind him.

“Seems like just the day before yesterday you got hot fudge _in your eyebrow_ ,” he countered.

“You’re such an asshole,” Timmy groaned, curling into himself and wiping his sleeve over ghost-chocolate sauce.

Armie had given him just as much of a hard time when it happened, laughing before dragging his thumb just below Timmy’s forehead. 

“How did this even happen?” Showing a curious Timmy the rather large swipe of chocolate he just pulled up.

“Fuck,” Timmy had whispered, scrubbing his face with his sleeve and looking for further evidence.

He had already been huffy because Armie wouldn’t let him pay for anything _again,_ but Armie had managed to explain that it was _his_ idea to come so it was _his_ money that would pay for it (that, and Armie had practically carried him into a booth as he argued.)

Armie had felt like he owed him, _always_ feels like he owes him, because this was fun, and Timmy was fun, and even that night, as uncomfortable as it had started, Timmy was still here so he obviously didn’t fuck up too bad. 

“Alright, I gotta go win this game,” Armie laughed, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll see you out there.”

“Throw a touchdown for us Armie! Don’t get sacked!” Saoirse’s face squeezed next to Timmy’s on the screen.

“I’ll try,” Armie said, waving as he hung up. He pocketed his phone in his waistband and took a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders. Got up on the pads of his feet, bouncing lightly, finally getting pumped up. Saturday night games were always a good dose of adrenaline. 

He pushed through the doors of the locker room, scanning the situation. Most of the guys were ready, hanging around, swiping through their phones and digging out their mouth guards. Armie cupped his hands around his mouth. 

“Aye!” They all looked up and began to draw towards him. “Who’s ready to fucking _kill_ these motherfuckers?” The response was a crescendo of loud shouts and claps, even some helmets being slammed into the lockers repeatedly. Armie’s smile was wry as he paced in front of them.

“We know exactly who we’re dealing with here. _Midtown_ ,” The last word dragged out in disgust. The team shouted mocking jeers. “Who the _fuck_ cares about their new DB?”

“Not us!”

“Who the fuck beat their asses the last two years in a row?”

“We did!”

“And who’s going to bring home the new winning record this year?”

“We are!”

Armie put his hand in, waiting for them all to reach into the pit. “Lets fucking get it.”

He lead them out of the tunnel and into the screaming crowd, the bleachers completely packed and overflowing to the sides of the field. The announcer called out the names and numbers of their starting line up as they stood before the crowd. Armie was always last. He pulled off his helmet when his name was called and waved to the bleachers through the deafening cheers. He tossed his hair, gave a gleaming smile. It was too easy.

It was like an outer body experience, just muscle memory by then, being the charming football star that winked down the sidelines as he got into the huddle. He glanced towards his seats. Timmy had Nick’s big beanie on - it’s yarn pom-pom bouncing as he clapped. Saoirse whispered something in his ear until he caught Armie’s eyes. Armie smiled, rubbed his knuckle over the arch of his eyebrow just before pulling his helmet on and yelling out the play, not even getting to see his reaction. They had a game to win.

\--

At 60 seconds left Armie was fucking beat. He’d been sacked too many times to count and his chest was aching from the force. Midtown’s DB was no fucking joke. He stood by the fact that his team had prepared as much as they could. They’d squeezed past the safeties _just enough_ to score one touch down last quarter, but their kicker had blown it, so they were sitting at 6 and 0 - a score Midtown could easily come back from. They were gonna win, Armie was sure of it, but Midtown wasn’t going to give in easily. Now, it was just a big game of keep-away. 

Armie tried to stall, running the ball himself to keep Midtown on their toes, but they were on the 2nd down, and he really didn’t want to thrust all his hopes on their defense. As much as he didn’t want to admit, setting the new record would be really good for him, especially home-wise. He looked up when he heard the whistle blow, running to the sidelines when coach called a time out.

He bypassed some friendly shoves from the team in favor of the Gatorade jug, filling a bottle just to squeeze half the contents on his head. He closed his eyes at the hit of ice cold water, panting and wiping his forehead. He looked towards the bleachers. Timmy gave him an encouraging thumbs up, and he tried to convey all of his exhaustion in one look. Timmy nodded, getting it, scrunching his face up sympathetically. Nick knocked them out of their silent conversation with a yell.

“Don’t give us that look, Hammer! Get your fucking act together!”

Armie rolled his eyes, but was surprised to see Saoirse pointing at the field adamantly, a terrifying glare on her face as she mouthed what had to be a threat. He felt the need to hold his hands up defensively. He really should never get on her bad side. 

“Where’s our champion?”

Armie turned around to the sound of Coach’s voice, having heard the endearment enough not to get incredibly ticked off by it, obviously also exhausted enough to answer to it that night. 

“I need you to throw to Keller.”

Armie calculated it in his head. From where they stood right now, and what he assumed Coach wanted him to do, he was gonna have to throw 55, maybe 60 yards. Fuck.

“Their defensive line is weak on the left, if you try for that side of number 38 there shouldn’t be any interference. You think you could do a 60 for me, Hammer?”

“Fuck,” He laughed humorlessly. “I can try.” Coach clapped him on the back. 

“Atta boy. We’re almost through, superstar. Get this for us.”

Armie nodded, running out towards the field. It wasn’t that fucking easy. He’d still have to stall to get their time down enough, or the extra points wouldn’t even matter because Midtown could still take the ball. He ran towards the huddle and tried to put on a straight face.

“Keller, be open for me; and I need to see push back on my left - give me someplace to throw.”

They nodded at him, but he could see their apprehension through their masks. 

“I got this. Just keep the field open,” he encouraged. They broke, got into position, and everything else went in slow motion.

Armie was yelling so loud he couldn’t hear his own voice. He forced Keller back with a wave because he needed more space between them before he could even think of throwing. In front of him was a mess of limbs, and then he saw it in his peripheral - Midtown’s DB coming right for him. The only thing holding him back being a grip on his jersey. 

He didn’t have time to think. He locked eyes on Keller and blasted the ball with all the strength he had left before being pummeled to the ground. He pushed the guy away, trying to make out what was happening at the other end of the field from the turf. He watched the ball sail to the left, tip into Keller’s fingers and send him tumbling into the end zone. They won.

Armie sank back into the grass with a sigh.

\--

“Hammer _throws_ down the line with seconds to spare, the ball _bullets_ into Pete Kellers arms and _straight_ into the endzone. The record has been broken and the crowd goes wild! Ahhhh! Armie! Armie! Armie!”

Nick and Ashton were enthusiastically recounting the final play as Armie walked up to them in the parking lot, putting their hands in the air and bowing to him repeatedly.

“We aren’t worthy, we aren’t worthy,”

“Shut the fuck up, morons,” Armie laughed, ringing his arms around their necks and dragging them towards the car. 

“How many interviews did they have you do, huh? One for Channel 6 and one for Channel 8?” They both chimed in. Armie rolled his eyes.

“I guess you’re just gonna have to tune in and see, huh? I’m fucking starved. Where’s Timmy?”

“At the car, god, stop suffocating me,” Nick wretched dramatically.

He let go of both of them, jogging ahead towards his parking space until he saw Timmy and Saoirse leaning by the trunk.

“Look at you and all your school spirit,” He called out as he got closer. Timmy turned, beaming.

“Good game tonight!”

“You thought so?” 

The question was innocent, but Armie’s voice was full of boast. He quick stepped in front of them, juking Timmy out and poking him in the ribs, teeming with energy. 

“Stop, stop! I mean yeah, even I could tell that you threw that last ball fucking far.” Timmy laughed, batting him away.

“Don’t lie, Timmy. Saoirse definitely helped with that.” Armie eyed her with a smile.

“I honestly barely remembered Pony was next to me, that game was too intense.” Her hand massaged her temple.

“Pony?” Armie questioned, looking at Timmy, expectant.

“Oh he’s a total Pony,” Saoirse continued, patting a sheepish Timmy’s cheek lovingly. “He’ll just come up and nuzzle you if he feels like it.” Timmy’s expression changed from shy to a straight up death glare. Armie laughed.

“Interesting.” He flicked the top of Timmy’s beanie. “Well we’re going to Annie’s because I could put down like, five meals right about now. And because we’re celebrating.” He mocked a throw, biting his lip and imitating a screaming crowd. He was pleased to see Timmy look at him like he was unsure of why they were friends. 

“No way man, I mean, you don’t have to invite us, we were just gonna say bye and Saoirse was gonna take me home.” Armie turned, not even bothering to give Timmy a look.

“Saoirse, why does Pony think I’m just being polite?” He asked curiously. “I’m not that nice of a guy.”

“I don’t know Armie,” Saoirse sighed. “He’s pretty stupid.”

“Pippin!” 

“Pippinnnnnn,”

Nick and Ashton finally caught up, slinging their arms around the both of them.

“Armie, you don’t have an inch of the relationship me and Tim have cultivated tonight.” Nick said, squeezing Timmy into his side. 

“Looks like it,” Armie agreed. “You’re sharing clothes already.” He leaned in, whispering loudly. “How much did they drink?”

“Aha, I’ - m not attesting to anything,” Timmy laughed, shaking his head. Nick squeezed tighter.

“Good man.”

“Let go of him Nick, he’s coming with us. Saoirse, you got shotgun?” Armie said, twirling his keys.

“Oh, thank god.” She said, squeezing past the love fest. 

\--

They got to the diner, Saoirse pushing Nick and Ashton towards the doors. Timmy hung back as Armie locked the car.

“Sorry, they’re - a lot.” 

Timmy shook his head with a small smile. “No, they’re cool.” Armie scoffed.

“ _Saoirse’s_ cool. When she’s not being scary.”

“Man, I can’t even make fun of you for thinking that, because she is truly terrifying.” 

They laughed, taking their time to walk in. Armie hadn’t gotten to talk with just them yet. It was nice. 

Timmy pulled the beanie further down his ears, balled up his sleeves in his fists and tried to hide a shiver as he stretched. Armie groaned.

“You’re freezing.”

“What? No, I’m not.” Timmy frowned.

“How did you survive the game? You, Mr. Perpetually Cold and Wears Hoodies Everyday.”

“I did it for the aesthetic,” Timmy laughed. “I had to go for the school colors.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, this won’t ruin your _aesthetic_ ,” Armie said, shrugging out of his jacket.

“No no no, I can’t put that on.” Timmy said, stepping away.

“Alright, I’ll put it on for you.” 

“No! Armie, come on, that’s yours, you won tonight.” Timmy said this as Armie wrestled him into the thing, smoothing down the sleeves and looking him over.

“It looks good on you.”

Timmy glared, but he already looked warmer. “It’s huge.”

“Come on, humor me. Plus, now I’m beating Nick.” Armie waggled his eyebrows, opening the door and pushing him through.

“We ordered your usual, Arms. And we got Timmy the same thing, because it’s going to be hilarious watching him eat it.”

It was easy, all of them hanging out together - Timmy on his right, Nick and Ashton and Saoirse on the opposite side of the booth. He was relieved that they all meshed well together. Saoirse of course took none of Nick and Ashton’s shit, dishing it out and holding her own which was very unsurprising. Nick tried to convince Armie of having at least four different inside jokes with Timmy, who couldn’t lie to save his life, but Armie liked watching him try. There were a lot of people from school grabbing a bite to eat too, coming up to shake his hand or comment on the game. He’d say his part, laughing along genuinely because he really was having fun. This was a good night.

“Yo, Hammer, am I seeing you at Sander’s party tonight?” Someone called as they were walking out.

“Yeah, man, we’ll see!” Armie replied, pointing at him as he left. Nick gave him a look.

“What do you mean, _we’ll see_?” Armie rolled his eyes.

“I mean _we’ll see_. Maybe I’m tired from all the winning I did.”

“Armie, we’re going. This game was epic and I lost my buzz an hour ago.” Ashton pleaded. “Timmy, tell him. He listens to you.”

Timmy eyes went wide. He put his fist in front of his mouth as he finished chewing. “You should go.”

Armie groaned, thinking for a moment. “Will you guys come too?”

“Mmm I don’t think -”

“I’ll go if Timmy goes.”

Armie looked at Timmy, giving his saddest look with a tilt of his head. “Tim?”

Timmy sighed, looking between him and Saoirse and leaning back in his seat. He shrunk down as everyone watched him and shook his head. 

“Fine, let’s go.”

They cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i loved writing this chapter once i finally sat down and fucking wrote it lol D;
> 
> its coming up on the 1 year mark of me starting this story...thats crazy. trying to summon up the same energy i remember having last march. definitely not a timmy and armie problem. more of a nel problem. bear with me!


End file.
